There is but just one of me,
Yet I can show a thousand faces to the world.
Trying desperately to bare and console my true image,
That it may remain for at least someone.
Through fear, reluctance and grief,
My confidence betrays me,
Ensuring it is vehemently guarded under this depraved surface.
Anguished, racked and subdued with emotion,
That desperately rages a pernicious war within.
There is no solace or release,
My only freedom bound with a cost of bittersweet peace.
For any absolution requires sacrifice,
Face to face I witness my broken self,
My true identity.
Here I am…
Empty, numb, defiled and damaged.
Torn, mocked, beaten and reviled.
There is nothing left to see,
This person is lost,
Taken from life.
Before the best was to come.
Before I knew there was more to see.
Before time was ready for me.
What person could I have become?
What face would the world have truly seen?
If I had been left to fulfil my life’s hopes and dreams,
To have pursued the passion in this heart,
These burning desires and interests.
Curiously, I see my face so clearly at the moment of death,
As tender silence befalls,
Effortlessly eradicating my abhorrent wounds and scars,
Whilst erasing the cracks in this visage.
So that I might see,
For one brief and mere moment,
The very person I was meant to be.
© 2021 Alana Bembridge