Within My Own Home

The darkness is sweet on my skin

Not in the way it was before, whispering my worthlessness into my being,

But kind,

Welcoming,

As it is not as it is perceived.

I walked up to the door and all I had to do was knock

To say, “I have finally come to have a reckoning with my worst.”

“I would like to speak to the demons who have been teased as such, please.”

“I am here to face the ones who have been my torturer’s threat.”

And all I discovered was myself,

I dwelled only in my own home.

Void of light, but not of goodness

There is no bad or good when it comes to my own being,

There just is.

So I crossed the threshold,

 Holding my own fear on my hip, as if she were my child.

In the fashion I learned on the river bank,

When I wept for her shunning, and embraced her as my own,

And I met my darkness,

Realizing there were no demons at all

Only empty threats,

governing my consciousness,

How silly, I thought,

That I would be afraid of myself.

I pulled up a chair,

Chin resting in my palms,

And asked,

What have I missed?