I am not perfect and I know it.

I am not perfect and I am scared that people I love will see my bare soul, my real-self and walk away from me.

Opening up just a bit, just one bit takes such effort and then I stand there like a little girl, vulnerable in the shiny, gorgeous light of trust.

Its golden rays are pouring down on me and its brightness almost blinds me.

But then I hear a call from oh-so-far-away that asks me if I am not afraid to get hurt and remember the pain and darkness of it.

I look back toward the door to my own heart, to my jail and then back into the light that shines so warm on my face.

I walk back for fear of losing the light, once I have been too sure of its existence.

Too sure of it warming me, to sure of the love.

I’d rather return to my own jail now, my own choice, pretend that jail is all I need.

Nothing can touch me there, no light but also no darkness, no pain.

It’s an existence, but no life.

The scar in my soul is deep, the void it has left is profound.

I smile and I laugh.

I pray and I sleep and I weep.

But I keep that prison around me for I know not how to live a life in the light anymore.

It’s too beautiful to have and lose again.

Shades of grey are okay to reside in, they don’t harm me.

But at night and in my weak moments, I dream of the light and I beg that one day I can walk into it and someone will see me, see who I really am, tell me that I am beautiful, that I am perfect, that I will never be hurt again.

My scar will shine from inside out in golden rays.

I will be healed and complete.

But I feel deep inside that maybe one day I will breathe again.

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Author: Yasmin Anyalechi 

Editor: Ashleigh Hitchcock

Photo: flickr