Were you allowed to express yourself growing up? Or were your passionate explorations squelched?
Arts were a forbidden country for me. A taboo. Superstitions of poverty and starvation, my becoming promiscuous, rang from my mother’s mouth. Dad silently agreed. When i turned 18 i told them i was going to college. When they did not listen, i screamed “they couldn’t keep me imprisoned.” Dad reacted otherwise. His anger boiled over. I submitted and got married and had children. Then grew up. I became bold and started writing. Bought paints and danced on paper. Looked through a camera lens to find moments worth holding.
My heart reopened as a bee flew past. He promised fruit in my life if i would spread open my wings.
I fly away to dream.
Memoir Musings Poetry anxiety art therapy color counsel creation depression dreamscapes expression forgiveness friendship healing in my blood journey listening well meaning of life mental well-being psychosis suffering suicide awareness this writing life who am I