Leaving behind conventionality to dance the flight of freedom.

In being left behind, cruel reminders of upbringing in the oppressive trails on. Streets ahead, consequence of witnessing more than required with eager determination to break free the mold I was not cast but attributed. I am discarded, embarrassed of a life I had no control other than to conform or rebel. A child's lot dragged through the years. My starting point was pulled back, way back...there's no equalizing handicap in this game of arrested development, it's do or die, partake or hide. My story is as full of achievement as any career yet there is no qualification other than a subdued knowing quietly shared when met with another's grief and no wage but reward for having survived thus far.

Worldly goods conventionally reflecting a life lived are scarce, wounds, scars are hidden healing...to wear the badge of the abused is to bring pity and derision, unwelcome companions. Why not then are the tribulations of those who have walked a thousand and more extra miles just to catch up not praised, not seen as a strength many would crumble under? I live in a cave, in a soft hovel of harmonious solitude, protection from a people who'd throw me to the wind for lack of grappling with understanding, an unwillingness to hear. Alone yet not lonely, I have my own soul to keep. Separate yet connected to a life seen in depths not witnessed by passers by. My door is ajar, who will be my brave and ready companion to challenge, crack me open to the self I've yet to bear? My dreams of flight have at last returned, exuberant, painted, a warrior like dance on air only fully felt when rubble is brushed from my restricted path, the heavy dirt from my boots...years since such a dream was woken from with a taking back to the escape my childhood self knew, the saving sleep that kept me living, the enduring force of passionate quarrel I long...I am.