Breaking the Mold


I pretend to be unaware of the feelings of despair.

I shrug off and ignore the sounds and vibrations they make as they chip away at my armor.

Is it really armor? No. It’s a build up.

Years of hurt, abandonment, and betrayal – caked up and shaped in the form of me.

It’s a mold, mummifying and encasing me with my fears, blocking me off from the world.

A display of my loneliness for all to see.

I’ve been immobilized, debilitated by its hold.

It’s been amassing for so long that I feel powerless under its control.

Just when I thought it was all over, that I had been confined into submission, a break through…

Through a small crack I can see everything that I’ve ever wanted to do and be,

and my body wretches and stretches with longing.

The force of the jolt was enough to start the revolt.

I raged against the machine,

this thing that had stunted the growth of my being,

and I broke away from the cast,

made of all those travesties of my past.

Piece by piece, it all came crashing down, smashing to the ground and spreading out wide, fleeing from me.

The slave had become the master.

Feeling free, I start to move faster,

but then I flinch in pain and look down to see bloody foot prints on the floor.

My feet had been sliced open by the shards, the jagged pieces of what was no more.

Momentary pain, because I knew that would be the last time those memories ever hurt me.

Walking away from the carnage, I pause, thinking that I should set eyes on it just one last time.

I was stepping out into newness, uncertainty, and those broken pieces were so familiar.

I shook my head in protest, and a few more pieces fell out and down to join the rest.

I cracked a smile, the first in a while,

and walked out into the world.

Naked and exposed, yes, but not the least bit fearful or embarrassed.

(This poem is featured in my debuting novel:


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