Share on bsky
The Shame of Not Belonging
It is time
to release
the shame of not belonging.
The heavy weight of guilt.
Ancient chains
that were never real.
Captured by the illusion of safety.
Silent agreements made
to pretend everything is fine.
Covered with smiles,
Splenda,
and Costco runs.
But that much lettuce,
hidden in drawers,
will surely rot.
Throw it out.
Buy more.
More.
More.
The magic word you taught me
was please.
But all I ever saw
was more.
My questions,
sandwiched in Wonder Bread.
Why is everyone pretending to be
fine.
fine.
fine.
The Von Trapp family
playing their roles
as I played mine.
Until I could no longer stomach
another bologna sandwich with cheese.
So I disappeared.
Crying
for the lettuce
dying in the drawers.
It was too much.
Or…
was I too much?
I opened the door
to fill the void
with more.
The eggs fell.
Crack.
Someone politely cleaned up the mess.
Secrets
shoved into another Target run.
Crumbs leaving trails
of a story
I saw,
but could never give voice.
Play your part,
little girl.
A finger
pointed in my face.
Fangs inside,
tasting the blood
of no.
I dared not speak.
Your survival
is at stake.
But in my dreams
I knew there was something
more
that more
could never buy.
My shame grew
inside the silence
of not being seen.
Piles of clothes
that could never be washed
clean of the truth.
Clean
on the outside.
But I could still
smell the lies.
Every morning
I curled my hair,
playing the part
of perfection.
My growing rage—
constant friction
against a fuse.
Label:
Could explode
without warning.
Shots.
Control.
Stay small.
Your magic
is not real.
She brought
wildflowers.
“Get those weeds
out of here.”
Her wild heart
broke.
Only the trees
and the animals knew.
She cried herself
to sleep.
With every rifle,
displeasure
unloaded.
She bled
in silence.
The fire
of her life force
hidden.
She became
the ghost
frozen in time.
A terrified,
tender heart
beat behind
her bedroom door—
the one she slammed
that no one
ever heard.
So she ate
another taquito,
four sauces,
trying to cover
the freeze
that always left
the aftertaste
of truth.
I had to stay.
But I was no longer there.
Watching the experiment
called
family.
The shame
of not belonging.
Born into a tribe
that did not honor
her colors.
So I tried
to build a fire.
To let them know—
I’m here.
Held down.
Limbs
waving no
until they went limp
beneath the force
of authority.
Lying in my bed,
left only
with tears
of false surrender.
It is not safe here.
To build a fire.
So I found
my good-girl clothes
and layered them back on.
Many times
I returned to this place,
wearing different colors,
different styles,
trying on versions
of myself
that might fit.
That might finally
belong.
Until this time.
I return
naked.
Nothing left
to hide behind.
Scarred hands
remain open.
This is who I am.
I offer
my meager essence
to the culture
of more.
The shame
of not belonging
meets me
at the door.
Acceptance
swallows.
I do not belong here.
Red-hot grief.
No one hears it.
Because they are gone.
She lies
in the same bed
where she was once
held down,
praying
to the galaxy of stars
pressed into the ceiling
by her once-young fingers.
She lies bare
inside an ocean
of sadness,
held
by the intimacy
of wild hearts
who know
the ache
of not belonging.
Those who refuse
to bow
to the Amazon gods.
Who no longer seek safety
inside a cart
that never feels
full.
Click.
Crunch.
Gulp.
Watch.
Until there are
no more episodes.
Death
dances
into the season finale.
Here I am.
Watching.
Awake.
With my creature—
who wasn’t allowed
into the manicured places.
Wild things
make messes
we pretend
to control.
My family
left without me.
My heart
waves goodbye,
my own hands
soothing
the primal wails
they will never hear.
Animals
are not allowed
in tame places.
So I roar.
Not to be heard.
But for my soul
to remember.
You are not alone.
There are others.
Pieces thrown
into the fire
of conformity,
waiting
for the ones
unafraid
to enter.
The ring of fire
will cost your soul.
The one
that came here
to burn
with everything
money
cannot buy.
The shame
of not belonging
flows
through the veins
I call my own.
Rage,
returned to
Love.
Remember
who you are.
She belongs
nowhere.
She belongs
everywhere.
The freedom
she came to find
can only be lived in
This step
called
Now.
She wipes
her tender cheeks
as her mother’s wind chimes
begin to speak—
stories
she may never understand,
yet somehow
knows
in her bones.
The hot sun
burns her down
one last time.
Hands
of belonging
Hold my own.
I am here.
Exhaling
peace.
My creature
beside me.
Our work here
is done.
The portal
closes.
The shame
of not belonging
rises
from the dark night
laughing wildly.
Naked.
Alone.
Whole.
Driving
toward freedom.
Not sure
where she’s going.
Only this—
She belongs to herself.
A home
That is not for sale.
~
Read 2 comments and reply