Poetic Prose: Shackles

Shackles

The chains that bound me. They held me. Firmly. And unrelentingly.

And I let them. I sat there and let them rip into me. They tore through my skin.

It left bruises and wounds. And made me feel like I wasn’t worthy because of them.

Because of the shame and the heartbreak.

And then I found the key.

I would have never found it if I didn’t keep getting up. If I didn’t wake up in those chains…

And stand—every day.

No matter how numb and lifeless my legs felt. No matter how sore my eyes were from crying.

And wishing someone would save me. And then… I realized it. I had to do the saving.

I had to step up. I had to ask for help. I had to go to therapy. I had to work out.

I had to go to Jesus.

And then the chains and the warden realized it. And they tightened the chains and the shackles…

But it was too late…

I woke up with a renewed strength. A renewed vigor. To fight. To break free.

It took 1080 days.

And I stood face to face with the warden…

And he looked back at me. He looked familiar. It was the version of me I was destined to become.

The man I fought against. To be the man that I am. The man I chose to be. Sam John.

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