Transformation


…redefined

Image courtesy of Adobe Stock

As a child I looked at the world
but it never looked back at me
I flourished fancy free
as flowers and children are meant to be

joy was always simple things
like butterflies and climbing trees
the wind in my hair the sun on my face
ever full of childish glee

as a young woman I began to see
that the world had another face
childish joy and happiness
no longer had a place

life instead became a race
where every step
every breath
was scrutinised and criticised

unable to abide the shift
from observer to observed
a bookish child who shunned the crowd
who flourished in solitude

I withdrew into silence
or so it was perceived
the truth was quite the opposite
I became adept at faking grace

saying the right words
at the right time in the right place
but in time I fell victim
to the call of the crowd

and despite my flimsy frame
I accepted what the mirror said
the visage it showed to me
I fell into line with the calls of the time

starving myself
I was a shadow
a wraith
that wind could carry away

an aberration born of vexation
with no foundation
my transformation
completely invisible to me

love could never find me
I reasoned
because the figure in the mirror
was not the best I could be

but in time love finally arrived
and chided me like a child
and I leafed through
the few images of me that survived

where I looked at the camera
as if it was a weapon
anxious and unsmiling
unrecognisable even to me

who was this young woman
this was surely not me?
this was not the me that I could see
when the mirror called to me

this me was fragile and thin
a frame barely holding onto its skin
a stranger looking back at me
her eyes full of sorrow and insecurity

in that moment I faced myself
for the first time
and I promised to always see the real me
who is worthy of love

and who deserved someone
who was worthy of me
I promised to wear my scars like a warrior
to love every line and every wrinkle

and to giggle with joy over
everything that jiggles
for scars and wrinkles and jiggling
are the spoils of survival

transformation redefined
mathematical logic be damned
I have converted one figure
into another of greater value

Ā© Ann Bagnall

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