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Reflections: A Poem from the Past

When I was between 19-21, I had the pleasure of working with a group of very talented people building their own theatre troop. It was raw and beautiful. Being so young in this environment allowed me a few opportunities that perhaps others don't get to partake in.


On one such occasion, we were working to put together a show that was a compilation of artists coming together and expressing themselves through song, performance art, or written word. While I cannot remember the gentleman's name, I remember the director of the show invited me to participate and I, of course, jumped at the chance. I agreed to be in the show, but I didn't know in what capacity to participate. Upon sharing this with the director - I'll never forget this because it was as if time slowed down for about five minutes - upon sharing it with the director, he paused and took a very long look at me in the eyes before saying "You are to write." I was confused as I had never written anything for the stage before - or really anything other than high school writing assignments and the occasional musing in my journal. But there it was, not just this man telling me to write - but a sensation as if the universe was speaking through him to tell me what must be done. And so I did.


What you will read below is a poem. It was read from a journal while another actor did movement work behind me to drive home some of the visuals and concepts. I had no idea what I was doing, but I did it anyway. Please be aware, this poem is bred from a history of sexual abuse and how I was processing all of that out at the time. Because of this, there may be triggers for survivors of abuse below.


I share this poem for two reasons. One, for those who are out there that will benefit from the words below, and two, as a reminder to myself that sometimes being vulnerable and sharing your experience is the best way you can show up.


"untitled"


Traveling... feet moving... mind pacing... travel...

Some travel to destinations of happiness...

My mind is capable of that... imagining blissful skies

Soft sand between my toes, laughter on the horizon

Margaritas and the smell of coconut suntan lotion.


But there are other places my mind travels...

My mind paces... pitter patter my way into the

Deep canals and passages of my dimly lit subconscious

Unable to discriminate the paths taken into this dark hidden

Secret of who I am


Who I am... life... the journey, the trip, the ride - A jumble of

Experiences that create the illusion of me (illusion?)

Illusion is harsh... I am real

I am human with feelings like you


I fall... and find my mind travels have led me to an all too familiar

Setting

I come here more and more of late to discover new dimensions to the

Insanity of the situation at hand (insanity?)

Insanity is harsh... I am sensitive to these emotions that overpower me...


Dark...

It's dark... I awake to that defiling, pathetic monster in the corner...

The monster is awakened to me...

Threats entail... pain follows...

Physically I am raped... Mentally I am raped

My spirit cries from behind brick walls I have built to conceal the noise...

Bricks made of prayer, mortar mixed with silence and desperation...

Painted with a calm seascape to disguise it from others...

I would turn the lights off for extra precaution...

But now I fear the dark more than ever before... and decide not to betray

Myself even more by turning them out


I stand... recognize the jagged, yet smooth and graceful scars...

Stroke them with the skilled hands of one who deals with pain


I think of the scars of others while I softly kiss my own and name them

I cry... more for the others than myself, to me their scars are deeper.

To take away all the knives in the world would not cover all the scars...

But could it not prevent new ones from being made...

No


The past has been acknowledged...and now the time has come...

I must keep traveling on life's path...

Must continue the journey, the ride...

I must make it my own and overcome the things that scratch my knees and bruise my throat...

I must tear down the walls and reveal that my spirit is not in actuality

Crying out in mourning, but crying in truth to unveil not just others' eyes but

My own


And so I travel...mind pacing...feet moving... travel to destinations that I make my own


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