In my fight for recognition
I diminish and reduce
The gifts of my friends
Their beauty and their truth.

In my struggle to be seen
Only I am good at that
They’re no good; I’m much better
But my protests fall flat.

From my silence as a child
Comes a strong, chilling wind
Lots of bluster and hot air
From my always racing mind.

How can I be heard?
How can I be seen?
Who will listen to my truth?
Who will let my gifts gleam?

From this childish perspective
I have to be the best
No one else can compare
Of course; I better the rest.

Yet, when I start to admit
This is not serving me
My shell starts to crack
And there’s a chance to be free.

From this place of self-doubt
From this Ego-based hell
There’s hope for a new start
From breaking the shell.

One of love and respect
Admiration and trust
One of calmness and joy
When I see what I must.

That her gifts don’t lessen mine
That her voice is kind
That by giving of myself
I receive peace of mind.

And I honour my pain
Of the frustrated child
One so muted and tied
I unbind her to find.

A sad lonely girl
In a world of her own
Yet ready to emerge
And now not alone.

In a circle of friends
On safe common ground
Where mutual trust
Gently takes my hand.

© Angela Dunning, 24 April 2015

2 thoughts on “Breaking the Shell

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