I asked the Master for the secret Ingredient;
He smiled at me and said, "Be obedient."

I had a light in me
It shone so bright that people could see what was inside
I talked about things that I loved religiously
And I clearly knew what I wanted to do

I did not give two *****
About what anyone thought of my work
Until I found myself wanting recognition
I asked people to tell me what was good and what was bad

I saw no wrong in that
Neither did they
Until I realized that I craved for compliments
I craved the praise

It was not for bad intentions
I wanted to get better
I wanted to be heard
I wanted the world to know me

But slowly, I became obsessed
I started relying on people
I relied on them to tell me my work is good
While I no longer believed in myself

The more they told me it was not good enough;
That I was not good enough
My light started to dim
And discouragement was staring me right in the face

I spent so long minding what everyone else thought of me
That I forgot the reason I was doing what I was doing
I listened to what everybody wanted me to do
I pushed aside the things that I wanted to do for myself

abuse is a picture that I am forced to paint
with colors I have never seen.
if I draw fists into open arms,
if I sketch an apology in between berating,
if I fill in every empty space with love,
no one will come running for
the child who cried help.

abuse is a phantom limb
still covered in bruises.
white coats and clipboards wonder
how it can still ache when it is no longer there,
infecting me with their doubts.
sometimes it feels heavier
than it did when it was a part of me.

depression eats at my weight until my skin is taut,
boarding up my eyes and locking my mouth.
blame has found solace in this blood,
guilt mutating my thoughts.
my potential used to live here,
but abuse has a reverse Midas touch
where everything that could have become gold
withers in its hands.