Pixelated

Distorted vision

Harbouring contempt

A view blurred

concealed from igniting eyes

a muddied perspective

shunning the light

pixelated

an image broken

a life torn apart

sheltered and hidden

for her own protection

an identity crippled

a severed heart

her fears realised watching herself

where is her soul?

Beaten and bruised

values are mocked

blind perception

critical thinking keeps her from loving

compromised by self-loathing

unanswered questions keep her guessing

a tainted reflection

haunts her shattered world.

Before I left – Photo 1.

Before I left - Photo 1.

I look at this photo in amazement. My lonely black chair beside a singular mirror. Who lived there? Nothing suggests this is home to anyone. Yet it was my home, my prison, my shelter, my room. The red walls only magnify my emotions at the time; my anger and hurt growing from the daily abuse. The emptiness echoed my loneliness. This was what I looked at for fifteen years of my life. A blank space. I wasn’t allowed possessions, I was afraid to keep them. Mostly in fear of him and his many, many rules. The fear of him finding a personal touch or something new stopped me in my tracks. So I kept it sparse to pacify him and keep my head above the water. That was until he found a tissue on the floor or a glass on the table and the contents of my drawers would be strewn across the floor. I took a set of photos before I left the house for good. Here is a series of the sadness.