Picked up a script, and started reading,
Didn’t put it down for years,
Had no clue that it would be leading
To binding shame and ferocious fears.
Had no choice; it was thrust upon me,
Before I could even tell the time,
Didn’t know it would be decades
Until the clock of freedom would chime.
I saw, and heard, and felt and tasted,
Smelt and read and read some more,
‘Til not one little dot was wasted
I’d absorbed the book and learnt the score!
I’d move to the sound of the unbending rhythm,
Measured, restricted, no room to reform,
No Love or dominion to re-write the lyrics,
Or insider’s knowledge to save me from harm
Such was the screenplay mapped out before me,
Including instructions on how I should act,
Now that I live on the right side of healing , I ask,
“What was fiction, and how much was fact?”
By Abigail Bobb-Semple © 2018