Made My Shadow
I made my shadow long before the system claimed me. I stepped out of my light to be unseen, to stay sane, to be vain, to hide. I made my shadow outside of me, carved it choosing darkness as my cold chisel. In my mind I swore this shadow was keeping me from spreading my wings, from flying. It really wasn’t. Little did I know about balance. How could I have with my limits? I was not born ready. I was never ment to be done. My shadow, that I gardened outside of me, grew too vast for me to keep. I didn’t know, though I thought I knew it all— this darkness, these roots never pinned me down. My shadow, carved from a muddy menace, was the only thing keeping me grounded. Rooted in the garden.
©Samia Oldman
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CONTEXT
You are reading dystopian fantasy poetry collection the Hush Halo. After the Great Optimization a privileged group of people wired themselves tightly into the system by aligning with it and fully integrating. Systoics believe they’ve perfected themselves by stripping away everything that slows them down.
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