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stiff—petrified—I follow the rules
kept in line and oppressed by guilt
with a broken backbone—replaced by wires of obedience
I emerge—a perfectly functioning robot—a shining tin soldier
everything of my own—any self-expression
forbidden—judged as wrong
my truth—condemned and persecuted like a crime
constant judgments of my guilt and evilness strike me with terror
burn into every cell the inescapable feeling of—I am wrong
fear and guilt are the mad allies
that produce a dangerously loyal vassal
and turn me into a rigid Prussian tin soldier
obedient, submissive, mouth-less, voice-less, spine-less
inflexible, “upright,” very functional—without making problems
my humanity crippled—only my deepest fear and obsession
—I am wrong and I do everything wrong—
burns and scorches inside
I can ease this inner hell only if I function perfectly
according to the authorities in my life—parents, family, god
teachers, husband, employers, governments, states
what has become of me? who am I?
a slave in bondage—a timid serf—submissive and servile
frozen into a non-being without integrity, conscience, a center
who despises herself over and over again for her cowardice
© Barbara Rogers
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Screams from Childhood |
