raw {a poem}

I am standing before you as on a dark windswept night.
Dark hair whipping around my face.
Shivering in my gorgeous impractical black dress.
Amber eyes glowing, somewhat otherworldly, somewhat discomforting.

A shiver runs down your spine.
Some truths are better left untold.
But still you listen. Riveted, fixed in your place.

Because truth resonates.

And so my voice carries on. Talking to you about the darkness, the bleakness of it all.
Of being trapped, of being ignored, of being less than who you are.
Of fitting in. Of taming the wildness.
Of slowly dying on the inside.
Of persisting. Not really, truly existing.

Of crying empty hollow tears. Of feeling bitterness burning.
The anger churning in your insides.
Of being mis-known. Unknown.
Of being dragged along, feet and hands clawing in the dirt trying to grab hold of something.
Something real. Something that doesn't feel hollow or brittle or fake or imposed.
Something that stands out in vibrant colours amongst all the bleakness and blandness of it all.

Something with jagged edges, maybe.
Something that makes your heart and hands bleed; something that has you howl at the pain
and yet gaze at the vibrant red spots with amazement and joy.

Because anything is better than that emptiness inside.

And gradually, you feel your vision clear. From where you're standing,
you can see the dark, grey, blank stares bleakness of it all.
And you see
that what they see
is only a fraction.

They see sameness.
You see what lies beyond.
Vibrant, bold, true colours.
Laughter and joy and truth and connection.
Real connection.
Real life.
Incredibly, painfully blissful.
Because how to bring this vision to all?
How to bring the light to those who are blind?
Blinded.
Not truly not seeing.
But caught in a fog of unknowing, of lies and tales.
Of rules and power games and fake smiles.

It will come.
I'm glad you're here. In the storm. Seeing.

_{First published October 2, 2015 (on Facebook). Copyright Kathleen Saelens.}