Selves-expression

Category: Survival

Survival is what it’s all about. I know many will relate to this!

  • Healing

    Healing

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    Memories soar, uninvited,
    taunting me with shaded truths.
    They shatter through walls
    that once were unbreakable.

    A feral hunger snarls for vengeance,
    consuming, implacable thoughts.

    Brain stumbles on life—revenge is hopeless—
    it begins to bargain: “Justice … the law …”
    Empty promises weave delusions of hope.
    The law is a ghost; beyond a veil.

    The stomach churns, bleeding and heaving,
    trying to expel the poisonous seed.
    But there’s no relief—only bile and despair.

    Through the blur of my tears, the world bends and warps.
    But in that distortion, I see the truth:
    There’s love in me—this hate isn’t mine.

    It was given to me; I was gifted a curse,
    a poison they planted to rot what was whole.
    But my true Self—loving, untwisted—
    endures beneath the borrowed darkness,
    a cloak that shields the light within,
    resisting the shadows they left behind.


    I don’t see love—just hate, unyielding,
    First them for their deeds, then me for submitting.
    I am Uroboros, devouring my Self,
    craving reprieve,
    choking on the bitterness they left behind.


    One day by chance, I forgot to hate,
    and I felt the love of my inner Self.
    It was quiet and patient, warmly embracing,
    a hand on my shoulder, a rock to lean on.

    Revenge is not me, justice’s not mine.
    The love I have for my Self, for my Selves,
    is both.

    It brings me peace,
    not by erasing the pain,
    but by holding it gently
    and showing me I am more.

    It’s in that knowing—
    love myself through the storm.
    I’m at peace with myself.

    Smile through the pain.
    Self-love is the way.
    Let healing begin.
    Begin.

    A glowing fire illuminates a large gathering of spectral figures in a dense forest. The figures, previously haunted and isolated, now sit closely together, many smiling or embracing, symbolizing unity and shared healing. The warm firelight contrasts with the dark forest, highlighting the connection between the individuals despite their otherworldly, ghostly forms.
  • Breaking the Silence on CSA and Conversion Therapy

    Breaking the Silence on CSA and Conversion Therapy

    Picture this conversation:

    4-year-old child: why am I a boy? 😁

    Parent: because you are a boy! 🙁

    4-year-old child: but I don’t want to be a boy! Why do I have to be a boy? 🤔

    Parent: well you are, so that’s it

    4-year-old child: why am I boy? 🤔

    Parent: because you have a willy! 😤

    4-year-old child: ………… 🤔……………but I don’t want to be a boy! 😩

    Parent: sneering what you want to be, a girl? 🤪

    4-year-old child: NO! No, I don’t want to be a girl!!! 😱 Why do I have to choose? 😓

    (disdainful uncomfortable silence)

    Parent: that’s what god gave you 👼 and you should be grateful that you are not a girl! 🤬

    A young girl with a neat bun, dressed in a simple white dress, sits on the floor surrounded by fluffy rabbits. She gently brushes one rabbit, her expression calm and introspective, in a serene and tidy room filled with soft light.
    The Silent Love: A Young Zombie Kid and Her Rabbits

    It not just the words—it’s the sneer. Sweep it under the carpet, there, problem solved!

    That disgust carves itself into the Soul, hijacking identity, twisting it into something unrecognizable. “You do you” only happens in the movies!

    Add to that stimming and “daydreaming” ….

    So the obedience lessons begin—every day, drilling compliance into this tiny, stimming, daydreaming body.

    And then the spiritual retreats.Pointed at, stared at, prayed over for hours. A dozen voices whispering for the holy something to ‘enlighten’ this boy. Great fix,right?

    I guess at the 70s door, this was the mindset.

    But then, being taken to a house and being called a girl, and then, hey what are you doing to me …

    Take this, it’ll relax you. Now shake your butty … 

    What just happened?

    And then, somehow, the butt starts shaking where it shouldn’t, and the whispers get darker. ‘What are you doing?’ they say. ‘You’re filthy.’ A child being used suddenly becomes the problem. One moment powerless, and the next, possessed by a Sex Demon.

    Suddenly, it’s not their fault—it’s the child’s.

    A young boy, Pio, faces a terrifying religious figure with a snarling expression, dressed in ornate robes, standing in a dimly lit church with light filtering through the windows. The image portrays the trauma of religious abuse and inner resilience.
    Pio’s Ordeal: Facing Religious Terror

    And more retreats—surreal villas on foggy plains, surrounded by unreachable woods. Ominously paraded in front of dozens, made to kneel. They chant hypnotically, slap eagerly, pour holy water zealously, and smear unwashable oil. They cast their prayers like stones at Mary Magdalene, calling out the ‘evil.’  The larger the conference, the bigger the rituals. Relentless! And when done with the prayers, back into isolation, locked away listening to the distant laughs of other children eating and playing.

    it’s a bit much for an 8-year-old child.

    Thank the brain for creating a dissociated community of children inhabiting an 8-year-old child and saving our life!

    Oh wait, grateful? Don’t know. There are things worse than death. Like life.

    But hey, at 55, we finally broke the spell. Three years later, we’re fully out—our authentic, agender self. The Zombie Children are still with us, but they’re not as quiet anymore. They whisper now, they reach out—and you know what? They’re proud of us. Our inner children—our survivors—are proud of us. It only took five decades. Yay!

  • Fury and I

    Fury and I

    "Illustration by Teo, inspired by Shade's poem'Fury and I,' depicting Shade in a dark green robe holding a small cage with a tiny, fierce creature inside symbolizing their anger. The background is a fiery, rocky landscape, reflecting isolation and the emotional toll of suppressing fury."

    Forbidden the spark of life
    Anger simmers—a silent ember.
    Not a warning or safety, no escape,
    A seething phoenix rise from the pyre.

    Protectors tower, defiant and raw,
    Forged where pain smelted my Self.
    Fighting to live, condemned to survive,
    Brave to repel inescapable storms.

    And when the ire is subdued, confined,
    To placate those we cannot defy,
    A happy face veils life on a thread,
    Fawning compliance, yielding, infested.

    This leaves a mark, a code unseen,
    Bartered by those who share in the sin.
    A life of service, chained and confined,
    The soul entombed, yearning for flight.

    A silent beacon that calls to those
    Cloaking their malice with painted smiles.
    All an illusion, a devious pose,
    The past reborn in a new disguise.

    Awareness bares its bitter truth,
    Outrage festers the conscious mind.
    Yet subdued, powerless, trapped—
    ‘roboros’ disease mirrors my own.

    Within the cage of my fractured soul,
    The serpent feeds on this smouldering pain.
    Rage spirals, unyielding, a silent storm,
    Till I release Fury, my inner force.

    Forgive us, Fury, for sealing your cage,
    Fearing the storms that gift dignity instead.
    You make us fighters where victims once quivered,
    Converting despair to unyielding resilience.

    Your fire now warms us, fostering peace,
    Shielding us from the evil outside,
    Untamed, yet cherished and no longer feared,
    We can safely rest in your loyal embrace.

    "Illustration by Teo, inspired by Shade's poem'Fury and I,' depicting Shade confidently walking through a fiery cavern. Their anger, represented as a fierce creature with glowing eyes, strides protectively ahead, now free from its cage. Shade follows with determination, symbolizing the journey of embracing and transforming suppressed emotions."
    Shade: Walking with Fury

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