I'm working on a non-fiction project called Bohemian Forgiveness: 5 Unconventional Paths to Forgiving What You'll Never Forget.
I have a literary agent. And submissions to publishing houses are underway. Meanwhile, a graphic designer is creating a collateral design to offer you a peak inside the manuscript.
copyright 2018. Ame B. Design
Somewhere inside you she lives. The beautiful one, who is unafraid and unashamed. Somewhere inside you she sings. Or screams. Or whispers. She may be forgotten but she herself has not forgotten. Silenced perhaps. Hidden away beneath layers of life and circumstance. But she is in there somewhere.
The war against her has been vicious and unrelenting, perhaps sometimes subtle. Either way, vicious or subtle, the war is always to steal from her all that she was made to be. The war will test her and surprise her. If the battle can convince her to hide, to run, or to self-protect, the tide turns against her. Hard on the outside, a false safety or a false front, she runs from the battle.
The fear of the screaming in the dark. The words that confuse and shame. How could he say that? How could he do that? How could he not see the tear rolling down her cheek. The war rages all around and tries to steal from her all that she was made to be. Year after year after year after year. She hides. How can she keep the pain from soaking in?
She becomes strong (or does she?) She learns how to be smarter than the others. She learns how to be harder than the others. She learns all the ways she can be stronger than anyone else in the battle. Her brains. Her body. What to do, what not to do, all carefully calculated to provide a safe passage through. Or. Is it the death of her?
When she was little she danced when no one knew. She sang when it was in her heart. She looked joyfully at her big eyes in the mirror, and had yet to hear the voice of self-criticism. She danced again. When she was little she cried unashamedly, and laughed till she snorted. This made her laugh more, even when the boy heard her. When she was little, she had yet to be betrayed, and she had yet to betray herself. When she was little she lived.
The war against her has taken its toll. She is too tired to dance. Or too ashamed, it is hard to tell the difference. The ways she protected herself, she now needs to be protected from. Her walls keep out others, but they also keep her in. Locked tightly behind her own clever strategies, she hides. She hides from him, and she hides from herself. She hides so well, she cannot find herself.
But somewhere inside you she lives. The beautiful one who is unafraid and unashamed. She sings, still, whether you listen or not. She cries whether you listen or not. Somewhere inside you she lives. Hidden away beneath layers of life and circumstances, she is hoping that you will care for her like the others did not. She is hoping you will introduce her to the One who made her.
She is hoping that you will be the one who takes care of her. She is hoping that you will hear her sing, and invite her to dance again. She is hoping you will not join the war against her. She is hoping that you can discover what she needs and help her find it. She is hoping that you will pull down the walls and introduce her to the One who made her. She is hoping that you will play with her. And she is hoping that you will let her tell you who you are too.
Somewhere inside you, you live. Come out and play.
Published on Thursday, February 27, 2014 @ 8:38 AM CDT