Seeking her freedom from He who
Captured and tied her with His strings,
Invoking true love—such a myth,
She wants to cut ties and to bloom.
So, she decides to free herself,
One pair of scissors is her sword.
Ridding herself of what he means,
She now remembers who she is.
– Patricia
Strings. Pulling her which way He wants,
She is His puppet on a string.
She breathes only when He’s around,
For He’s her Master—that’s the thing.
He gave her colour, shape, and life,
She dances to His music. She
Is just a piece of wood otherwise,
Lifeless—awaiting to be pulled.
The strings He made cut deep, deep wounds,
Leaving their mark on her, so that
She always knows she cannot choose
To free herself. He owns her. Scars.
She’s there to please Him, otherwise
She’s put away in her own box,
The cage she only knows to despise,
Awaiting His life-giving touch.
He gave her meaning, gave her life,
Yet she has never learned to breathe,
She suffocates under His touch,
She is alive, yet hasn’t lived.
She rots away inside her box,
Not daring to leave it behind,
For she can’t move, her many scars
Remind her who keeps her alive.
Until one day, when she decides
That death is better than that hell.
She grabs the scissors, cuts the strings
And then bids everything farewell.
She waits for darkness to arrive,
The clock is ticking. Nothing comes.
The pain of a thousand sharp knives
She had imagined is nowhere near.
Doubting that she is truly free,
She slowly moves her hands and legs
And they obey her thoughts right then,
She doesn’t have to wait or beg.
She slowly stands up and falls down,
Losing her balance. One more time.
She stumbles, falls, gets up again
And learns to walk all by herself.
She slowly leaves her cage behind,
Tripping and stumbling, falling down,
But she’s determined: she won’t stay,
She’ll live to see another dawn.
As time goes by, she learns to run,
To jump, to spin, to sprint, to dance.
She starts to wonder how she could
Believe that he’d given her strength.
Painting her colours how she likes,
She is her own. And no one else
Can ever tell her otherwise.
She knows her truth. She loves herself.
– Patricia
It’s time I sat down with myself
And had a chat before the dawn.
So many troubled thoughts compiled
And I’ve been running for far too long.
My life’s a mess and I am lost,
Grabbing onto whoever comes
To tell me who I am. Regret
Holding me back. Hungry for love.
I sit down and I think about
All the decisions I have made,
And all the problems I have caused
Simply because I only wait
For someone else to save my soul
Instead of being strong enough
Like I’d vowed to myself I’d be
Not long ago—five years have passed.
I had decided I’d be strong,
And yet somehow along the way
I lost myself again—felt cursed
To struggle just like this in vain.
My fears are tearing me apart,
As I turn nightmares into life.
Crippled and terrified by fear,
I can’t go back. There’s no fresh start.
But finally, something inside
Gets tired of the role I play.
I am the damsel in distress.
Okay, now also save the day.
“Stand up and save yourself right now.”
I hear a thought deep, deep within.
And finally, after so long,
I choose to listen to its voice.
I make this choice still feeling lost,
But I’m determined—I’ll hold on.
I’ve made myself so miserable
For far too long. Now I’ll be strong.
And I’ll be patient—I need time
To heal and to learn to love
All of myself—broken and numb.
I’ll focus on personal growth.
I’ve made my choice. I go to sleep.
And I sleep well: peaceful, content
Like I haven’t in so, so long.
I go to sleep before the dawn.
And I wake up determined, strong:
I have myself. I get to work.
It’s tough, it’s hard, I feel confused,
But one thing’s clear: I’m my own song.
– Patricia
Da Capo al Poetry 