Sharing – Pt. 2

Originally, my previous blog was set to “Friends” because I was feeling that old familiar fear of loss setting in.  After reading posts from several of you, I decided to let go of some of the anxiety and go public with it.

In the past week, I have really been thinking more about my journey as a survivor, and about how my poetry has grown with me through the process.  Once, long ago, I had a teacher tell some classmates that their children would be reading my stuff one day.  Well, it is a bit too late for that – and most poets don’t make it into the literature books until they are dead, but I have decided to give it a shot anyway.

Over the next few weeks, I am going to be getting my poetry, and maybe some of my journal entries together for my first “book.”  It should be interesting to see what form the book takes, but I will let you know when it is ready.

Love & Hugs,
Kylee

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Sharing

Sharing….it is something that I have always been afraid to do.  Why?  Because the truth comes out when share, and once it’s out there, you can’t take it back anymore.

If you have not already noticed, I am very excited to be featured on The Survivor Archives this week (BTW – Thanks to the Joanna & Kristin for the beautiful intro and for providing such a wonderful place for survivors to make their mark on the world.  Love & Hugs!).   However, even with all the excitement, there is still some part of me that is terrified at what my self-expression could mean.  It really isn’t the fear of being found out, but more the fear of losing the only thing that has ever completely belonged to me ~ my writings.

Sounds really crazy, huh?  For years I have battled with this fear.  I guess it began when I was young.   As a child, very few things in my life were not subject to my father and step-mother’s whims.  Many things went missing from my room when I was gone for a day, and anything my mother gave me was taken from me immediately.  The only thing that I could ever find that they could not take away (although they tried desperately to do so) were my thoughts, fears, hopes, and dreams.

When I moved in with my mom, I began to write my precious words down so that I could cherish them.  In time, my poetry became something sacred in a way.  It was my private escape from a cruel, secretive world.  When I wrote, I was free to be honest about the world around me, and I was able to become the person that tried so hard to hide.  For this reason, I have always feared sharing my private musings.  The fear that someone would try to steal them from me and make them their own has been terrifying at times.

In that moment, they would have the power to take something precious from me, and then I would have nothing left of my identity or individuality.