SHADOWTEARS
When I think about it, it all makes sense.
Even before my lungs took their first breath, before my first cry,
my existence was pushed aside.
Placed in the background.
I was a disturbance. My being shoved into the shadows until it could no longer be ignored.
At least they could gain something from me. An exchange. A promise.
Even before anyone had ever truly been there for me, I was already given up.
They didn’t choose me. I had to wait. Had to stand at the back.
I did not exist, even though I was breathing.
Soon it will have been 336 moons that sang me to sleep at night,
and my soul is screaming.
It has suffered silently for so long, and now it composes dirges for me,
pulling image after image from the glowing embers,
even though I often just want to forget.
Am I really here?
Or has my being never truly stepped out of the shadows?
Damned. From the very beginning.
Is that why I feel black streaks on my soul with every breath I take?
Why I feel the greatest freedom in the silence of the night?
(15 july 2025)
