Daydreams sustained her,

Through the nightmares,

Through the darkness years.


Stories and lyrics held her,

Broken pieces wrapped in comfort and companionship.


Silent, pleading prayers of distant others,

Kept her head above the salty waves,

Hands grasping for sky and air and light.



Despair tried to extinguish her light,

Numb sorrow, to contain her always in shadow,

Fear, to burn her down to ashes….


Ah, if only they had read her real story,

the one whispered in the cracks in-between,

If only they had remembered to whom she belonged,

They would have seen…..

She was always meant to rise.


Chelsey Whitlow


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