This is a poem we all worked on after I discovered the others and we had begun the process of healing. We had blended our individual voices when creating pieces before I was aware of anyone else, and this wasn't the first time I'd written with the system contributing. The Various section of our finished writings folder is the largest one there. This is just one of the many things that are part of that section. Hopefully, these kinds of posts are ones we can all make regularly.
There was a girl all made of glass, who walked a path of stones,
And to those round, all made of steel, her skin was one to be outgrown,
For when she’d fall onto the ground, by stumble ore a stone,
She’d shatter into many parts, but rise up on her own.
Pay no more mind to her risings than you’d a single breath,
Said they, for she will take of this that shattering is rest.
So when she broke into her parts, they’d take her far away,
And not allow her to return till they were one again.
Those others who were much like this, the girl knew not at all,
For she was kept inside a room, and kept parted from the all.
Those things that she desired to have, to make it through her days,
Were denied to her by those in power, and such desires were set ablaze.
She took to herself the blade of a fire, this fire the one of shame and fear,
And far from her she through those parts who held this need so near to her.
When the deed was done, the girl knew not of comfort or of peace,
But she knew well of restlessness and inconsistency.
In times of isolated pain, when no one else was near,
When she was younger in her shell, they told her, “Do not fear.”
They were not of the pain we see, but of love and of light,
And at two she was unafraid, for she felt that it was right.
She felt none of another’s pain, for others took from her
All that they could, in the harsh time, for war she’d not endure.
It was another, in the nights when light was on its way,
Who learned in ways that she could have, had not it been for disdain.
They, around her, when she would try to look past what they knew,
Would tell her, “Never will you know of that which lies past you.”
The years went on, and never gone, the parts of her lived on,
In endless pain and never sure when they were called upon.
The search that she was lost within, the search that found her way,
Led her to deepest dark despair, then pulled her back again.
It was from the search she found her way, and learned about the parts,
And in community she healed, and grew to find her heart.
She told them that she’d seen those things which were all past herself,
And from the shadows she called those who’d felt what had been left,
And all those others who’d gone on to learn what she could not,
And she told them of realities that came as they were taught.
She told them of the healing that in the moment was,
And she said to them, and all the world, “for feelings, be we not judged.”