I wrote this after an EMDR session about shame around my abuse in November 2016.
Now the black hole opens wide
and a red-headed silent scream
plunges, blurry and life shaken,
until the empty darkness
splashes into blackest sea.
Slowly, unresisting, she sinks
to suffocation and nothingness.
“No!” my watching soul cries,
reaching useless misty arms
to lift to life again
to the surface.
Hands – not mine – solid –
lift and hold the limp child
at the rough surface
black with pouring rain.
An amber carapace forms –
translucent solid life boat –
my child-self sealed within.
Clinging to the floating shell
til wind-washed upon the shore,
I stand, beating my fists
against the slick shield
shouting, “Come out! Be free!”
No crack appears, though,
and weeping I drag
the chrysalis of me
to the roots of an ancient tree
where we will be guarded – safe –
until cocooning time is done
and childhood’s wings
break damply through
shame’s brittle shell
too weak to contain their glory.