I have these bars in my head, and I look out at the world through them.
They tell me that I can never join you, that I am less than.
They came a long time ago, and most of the time I don’t know they are there.
I am so used to looking out, at you, through them.
They are made out of thoughts that I have accumulated through the years.

Statements like, ” you are not going to be anything if you don’t quit reading, you made a mistake, you can do better ”
I added my own to those, and pretty soon the bars were there for good, it seemed.

The cell got smaller and smaller till pretty soon I was haemorrhaging life through the space between those thoughts/bars.

I took what little life I had left, and screamed that I needed help.
You came and showed me the bars. you said look through the bars. They are not really there. They are but an apparition.

Your cage is but a construct, made out of bars that you have been hanging onto for most of you life. It is time to let go of the bars.

Come out and reach for us, We will help you stand. We know the light is bright and there is only us to hold onto, but in time you will see that is more than you could ever need.

Soon you will reach back and support another who is trying to leave his cell behind.

Say something, I am giving up on me.

Who am I. why am I ? Talk to me, please let me know.

I walk through life wondering where I fit. The only solace I find is in escape. I am in this slip stream where I live less each day.

Others can’t touch me, because you never did. I am in smothering fear all the time. I want you to hold me and tell me I matter. Instead I drift.

The fear always there that others will treat me the same. I turn before they get to see in me.

You’ve left me here, I must turn to others.

Say something, Dad, I almost gave up on me.

I like waking up and laying in bed in the dark. When the day is in an embryonic  state. It has such promise then. I am getting better at living with the actual day that happened, when I reflect at the end of the night. But, back to the morning. I was always a late riser as a kid, and that has only changed as I have grown older, and because of work. There is something about laying in the sheets that equates with safety, and love. I don’t want to start, I don’t want to get up. But here is the crunch, if I never get up how will I know what I am, what I can be, and ultimately what that little spark inside of me can become. Some days lately It has become an encompassing glow, a strength that helps me deal with the worst that life has, to a tenderness that I can share with a hardened inmate. I am so grateful for the light now. I used to be afraid of light, because it might show people what I thought I really was. If my parents didn’t love me how good could I be? I now know they didn’t know how to love, or express it. You took me in and said it’s okay, we love you no matter what you did. Tell us, we are the same. Show us your dark, we will show you the path to the light. Come bask in it with us. I am getting out of bed now to get on that path.

I stand here a fortress. Nothing makes it through these walls. My shell, so hard there’s no deviation from the black and white I live in.

They’ve tried to reach in and touch inside. Every time they have to pull back from the heat or cold.     I clutch my armour around my heart, no one will ever harm me again. No one will ever know the pain.

If I show them the pain I might have to look at it myself.

You came. You asked me about the pain. Why do I need to look ?

Now I stand raw and alone in a maelstrom of emotions, that I can’t begin to comprehend.

The only thing left is to reach out and touch you.

My Father was a very good carpenter, he could build beautiful things out of wood. My father was not a very good father, I don’t think it was totally his fault.

I never wanted to be a carpenter, I was supposed to be a carpenter. I was supposed to take over the family business and take care of my brother and sister, this was the German way.

My Father is still disappointed that I did not do that. My Father made it clear that he was disappointed in me, a lot.

I started to read when I was young. I read Science Fiction voraciously because it helped me escape who I was.

Its ironic that I didn’t want to become a carpenter, because I have been nailing boards over that black hole inside of me for years

The first one was reading, then masturbation. After came marijuana, alcohol, tv, exercising, cocaine, coffee, all coupled with compulsive masturbation.

I finally had to stop nailing boards over that black hole inside of me, or I was going to nail  myself out of existence.I took them all off slowly, and reluctantly. The last board I took off was sexual acting out. I looked into that black hole and what should I see but a scared little boy who couldn’t stay silent any more.

He is afraid, ashamed, insecure, selfish, and oh so alone. I’ve had to take him by the hand and walk with him into the loving sunshine.

We stand here blinking our eyes through the tears of pain, joy, grief, love, and amazement. I am 55 today and I can finally say that I feel special, and beautiful, This only happened because there are special, beautiful people who helped me get here. Thank you all.

Limitless.
I stand, head tilted, drinking in the blue with my eye’s. The hum comes through my feet. They meet in my soul.

Shackled.
I stood, afraid those who knew me would discard me.

Inside.
Nothing but pain.

Given.
Encouragment to reach out and risk love. Not rejected, I was assured.

Tears.
They come and come, washing me clean. I am alive.

Love.
I can, will, Do