Shadowman
You are a looming shadow—
no face, no name,
but I’ve felt you breathe on my face.
Your wheezing seared into my brain
Your words not heard.
You stood at my door,
and I learned to be small, invisible.
Your shadow stretched
over the entirety of my life.
Into classrooms, shy
into church pews, scared
into the solitude of my own bedroom—no place to hide.
You entered my bedroom,
chose me as your own.
I was limp,
pretended to sleep—
no strength to weep,
no energy to cry for help.
Uninvited you came,
lifted me from the comfort of my cocoon,
carried me to the cold of dissociation.
Looking down,
I see myself laying there,
partly bare,
paralyzed by fear.
My innocence was stolen,
a treasure not given freely.
Denied the joy of loving,
given freely, deeply.
I grieve those interrupted nights,
weep for the broken parts of me.
How many nights of terror and fear
my five-year-old mind and body holds,
I don’t know.
I hold that body with reverence,
I thank her for her endurance,
her resilience.
But I am not five anymore.
My body held hostage by your invisible shadow,
starved of light,
ruled by fear,
no escape.
And then the dawn came.
Sunlight through the bedroom window,
a new day.
The nightmare ended,
he no longer lives here.
His empty room now for rent.
The Shadowman is no more.
If this reflection resonates with a part of your own becoming, you’re not alone. Thank you for reading.
Written by Meagan