What is it that best regarded

I have to let go,
letted go.
I let go of the shame.
For which is no responsibility of mine?
But I have felt this ashamed of myself,
it has become a part of me.
It is grown as I have neglected my own healing power.
The shame and denial.
The refusal to accept myself.
The shame of it.
I kept myself backward.
I have lived to believe in the guilt,
that has owned me!
The shame has a power over not what I am,
but what I limit it to.
I -
I;
cannot be ashamed of myself for what has been.
What happened to me as a child.
I was sexually abused and it taught me something.
I do not run from the guilt,
I can embrace it.
I can forgive myself, and see what others see in me
- I have qualities.
I value it.
I own it.
I am not ashamed to admit to my sexual abuse.
Being ashamed:
makes me a victim.
Being a survivor:
makes me a man.
A childhood not because of shame,
a manhood because of incest that I do not deny.
I accept. . .
I accept.
And I believe in myself.
A believer that has no fear in how scared I became,
when I was 6 years old.
And the man who abused me, forever affected the life
of a child.
That was then, this is now.
I read the book.
I was in grade seven.
Did anyone else know I was a victim?
Did everyone else know I was a catipilar,
waiting to cocoon into a butterfly.
That was then this is now.
I have only attributes of character I possess,
the ones that I defined as being who I am.
Make me a great, great leader among men.
But do they know I am a victim or a survivor,
that the pain I come across.
That hurt I do not show,
but I feel it inside.
It decays internally, without ever it being revealed.
I will be.
Not defeated.
But acknowledge my shadow, as it lurks like a phantom.
A menace in disguise.
The phantom I am.
The love for the phantom, shattered.
Into pieces it shatters.
I shatter it.
And the pieces I will not pick up again.