that which is sacred…

that which is sacred is often concealed; that’s why you see people’s bodies and not their souls. that is why i shed my tears in the dark of night, in a cold, bare room, with nothing to keep me company but the echoes of my whimpers. the eyes, they say, never lie, but when you look into mine you see the sunny days, you see the hope, you see the joy. rarely ever do you see the dismay, the indifference to what life has become. i do not live, i merely survive, one day after the next, crying in the dead of night, smiling in the glow of the day. because that which is sacred is often concealed.

my mother only recently opened up to me about the abuse she faced in her marriage. i’d like to think that that was the case because marriage is seen as sacred. but i saw her body, i saw her scars, the wounds, and the life leave her eyes. she drank in secret to cope, i wonder if it was because the bottom of the bottle was sacred to her. and so it was, concealed because of its sacredness, but with time it came to light, it wasn’t sacred anymore. what once was placed on a pedestal became her shortcoming, what once was sacred became taboo.

these words that i share, for so long i considered sacred. the understanding of oneself, the emotions i bear, for so long i thought must be hidden. but alas, sacred they were, and because of their holiness i must share them, so that another’s sacred emotions can be related to. all in a hope that one day, i see the souls before the body, and they see my soul before my body. for i am not sacred. i am soiled with sin and vices highly condemned. but in my dirt appears a diamond, one that is so sacred that it must be shared. one that must be bragged about, shown off.

my pursuit to change the narrative begins with this oh so little step. that which i considered sacred should often be revealed.