Allowing myself to feel,
To cry,
To realise just how much you stole from me.
Peace, inner calm,
The strength to be myself.
The courage to admit just how terrified I was.
Sapping my self-esteem
Till I felt worthless, unworthy of any joy.
The feeling of dread
That they would all realise I was a fraud,
Not knowing what I was doing.
Seeming calm but completely out of control,
Wanting it to end,
But not knowing how.
Eating down the sadness,
Throwing up the fear,
Not knowing why
But knowing it was wrong.
Knowing they’d be horrified
If they ever knew.
Trapped in the cycle
Year after year.
So many years stolen.
So few remain.
Time to make them count.
The BED Post 