broken. battered. bruised


I remember thinking as a child that my soul was trapped in the wrong body. I could not break free no matter how I tried. Only in my dreams would the way out be revealed. But just as I was about to take that step, open that door and cross that threshold, POOF!!

I found myself awake again. Still trapped.

Somehow, the walls that surrounded me grew taller and stronger while I slept. I knew it was not real. I knew it was imaginary. I knew it. But the voice in my head kept telling me not to resist my condition. The wall was real. It was part of me. It goes where I go. Like a shadow.

Be trapped. Stay trapped. Be silent. Be unseen.

And now after a lifetime spent attempting to walk around, climb over or crawl under the wall I understand how real the wall is. It is not imaginary. I built it.

I put it there, brick by brick. My gait has been heavy and burdensome with the added weight of the bricks I use to build my fortress.

I’m not smart enough, or rich enough, or lucky enough.

All I am is nothing.

Now my life is controlled by a global pandemic, social strife and a political environment the likes of which I could not have imagined. I’m floating as before, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for my life to restart. Waiting for the part of the dream when the way out is revealed.

I click my heels three times.

I cross my arms and blink.

I twitch my nose.

If only…

I can go no where but within. I have a passport I can not use and a pocketbook long on empty. Where ever you go, there you are. That’s what they say.

And it’s all become clear.

I must breathe the air on the other side of this wall.

I must see the length of shadow I cast with the sun at my back.

Because I finally understand tomorrow may never come.




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