Ouch.
It hurts.
This pushing me away. This forcing me to be someone I'm not.
This stuffing me inside a box comprised of deceit and despair.
I. Don't. Fit.
Please don't try and make me.
It hurts.
My legs are cramped and my neck won't turn.
My wings need to be spread.
My voice needs to be heard.
I need to stand atop the mountains and scream!
"This is me! I am me! I hear, smell, touch, taste and feel the same as you.
A stone thrown will leave me bruised
A sword will cut
A gun will kill.
Do you not see the fear in my eyes?
It hurts!
Can you not hear the tremble in my voice?
Can you even hear my voice?
I stand upon these mountains with arms outstretched and eyes wide shut.
See me!
Hear me!
Feel my presence as it follows the wind around me.
I hurt!
I bleed.
I cry,
Oh, God I cry."
And then I'll run.
Far away from everything you ever saw for me.
Because I do not fit.
I never did.
All those years I cried.
Because it hurt.
Now no more. No boxes nor confinements.
No limit to my me-ness.
I'm going to love me,
for me.
Not for you.
Because you hurt me.
The bruises are still there.
Some days I'm sore and I remember what you did.
where you tried to put me,
where I failed to thrive.
I am going to be happy.
I am going to take that box and stand atop it.
It is my mountain.
I have worked my way upward and knocked down every obstacle.
I am here.
Do you see me now?
