My Battle

I stare at the ceiling,
I do not move.
I only blink.

To be extremely accurate I can perceive my chest rise and fall,
And as I lay my hand upon my navel, I can feel my heartbeat. 

I look at the ceiling.
I don't look for answers,
I actually take the time to remember my dreams. 

Dreams...
What are dreams?

Are they not but just imaginary fixations of outcomes, based on....what?
Are dreams a fanciful way of saying desires?
But are they really quite the same thing?
Dreams are what we wish for, yearn, hope, maybe even pray for.

Dreams of the night.
What are those then? 
Mysterious messages from our unconscious,
Words of some god,
Fears,
and yes, hopes too. 

I lay inert,
I do not even wear clothes.
My bare skin open to the ceiling,
to the sky,
to the planets to look at,
to the stars to shine on,
to the moon to pull. 

I lay,
with my dreams,
with my demons,
as I'd lay after some war in a battlefield. 
You might not see my wounds,
nor smell my blood, 
but I can't move.
The only thing I have left is my breath.

I've crawled under blankets of fear,
of shame,
of anger, 
but most of all
I've crawled under the iron blanket of unworthiness.
I've curved my back inwards so hard that I forgot there was a world beyond than my bony knees and the ground 
where I'd fall on,
again, again, again. 
That
Was my reality.

Now I'm chest up, open.
Still in battle...
something held in a dark corner inside me.
Between my rib bones,
On the insides of my clavicle,
Right beneath my sternum.

My body still does not move,
I lay.
I blink.
My ribs rise,
My legs lay heavy,
My sternum shines.

Something happens.
I close my eyes.
And I find a lake, a river, an ocean,
for now my eyes flood with salty tears.
I hear a voice:
(I'm so afraid, I'm so afraid, I'm so afraid)
Trust. 
You are enough.

Breath altered.
In, out,
sobbing.
In, out,
sobbing.
In, out,
nothing.
In...
sobbing.
This is war.  
My battle. 

I hear a voice:
(tell me, tell me, tell me)
Why are you so afraid?

I open my eyes.

My naked skin still exposed,
surrenders...