RH♥︎M

Re-Humanization HeART movement exhibit May 2025

I invite you to join the movement for another exhibit 2026

https://www.createwithlynda.com/post/the-rh-m

1/14 portraits

Does the Caterpillar Know It’s Fate as It Turns to Goo?A poem by transformation

In 2019,I left behind seventeen years of quiet lies and little pills promising to anti my depression.

In 2021, I lost my dream job—the one made for me, shaped to my bones and breath.

Fired for saying no.

For asking why.

For daring autonomy in a culture built on standardized ‘care’.

Two months later,

he was gone.

An affair,

the gift of truth unwrapped on Christmas Day.

I do not believe in coincidence.

Life speaks in patterns,

whispers truths I cannot unhear.

My mind connects the dots

others call chaos.

____________________

GOO

The mirror did not blink.

I had to.

Cognitive dissonance—

that spell we all chant

when the story gets too strange to hold.

I fell apart slowly,

with intention.

Everyday, I wept.

School runs were powered by

promises of return to bed.

Despair moved like thick honey.

Suspicion turned into confirmation.

Disappointment stacked high,

like Tetris blocks—

each piece falling perfectly into place,

then busting and vanishing in spectacular fashion,

just as I thought I’d won.

I had the rules of the game

inverted, subverted.

Fear infiltrated the mundane.

A fresh public ridicule only a scroll away.

Even the virtual world held knives that cut into 3D.

That’s when I learned—

not just theoretically,

but viscerally—

this is what discrimination feels like.

Cast into isolation not for wrongdoing,

but for not complying.

For being different.For saying: No.

While fear and shame stalked me,

my privilege was dragged into the light.

And in that gut punch of clarity,

I saw more:

I had been both oppressed and oppressor.

Not always in balance,

not always aware,

but complicit in the systems

that later came for me.

The abuse wasn’t just at home—

it echoed in the macro.

The authority I trusted,

the stability I defended,

shook beneath me revealing faulty scaffolding.

Thank you, Universe.

I see it now.I was both cage and captive.

___________________________

Wings

I stopped scrubbing the floor

to climb mountains.

I flirted with joy,

built an expanding container to hold pleasure,

let my house become messy,

so my soul could become less so.

Mondays became sacred in place of dread.

Yoga.

Swimming.

Too decadent? Too damn bad.

I redefined trust.

I chose circle over crowd,

honesty over niceness.

If you’re still here,

We’ve found a deeper into-me-I-see.

Where I once virtue-signaled and judged,

I have been face-in-mud humbled.

Now enrolled in Discernment 101.

Love is not a pie.

But my energy is.

My time is.

And not everyone gets a slice.

I no longer worship at the altar

of rules and rigid science—

not the kind that pretends

it's done asking questions.

I believed order brought safety.

That obedience meant stability.

But the game glitched—

macro and micro foundations evaporated,

leaving me in a fog of

fantasy.

But in that rubble,

there was space.

And in that space—

a whisper, then a seed.

What is sovereignty,

if not ownership of the self?

____________________________-

Flight

Five years.

A thousand small deaths.

A thousand beating of new wings against the chrysalis.

I faced myself—

scooped out the illegitimate shame a teaspoon at a time.

And I stayed.

I learned to ask.

To take.

To nourish myself

as if I matter.

Because no one is coming.

Because I am here now.

And once I came—

kicking, screaming—

to that truth,

I broke free:

stronger,

transformed.

Author

A woman representing many.  She needs no name.