Màu nền Màu tối Mặc định Xám nhạt Xanh nhạt Xanh đậm Vàng nhạt Màu sepia Vàng đậm Vàng ố

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Kích cỡ chữ:

I have been drawing back
to those hurtful times of myself-
Rejected, and rejecting.
And I wish I had held you closer,
told you being different was okay,
that being real was right-
and whispered, I'm sorry.

I hate that you carried
the weight of wounds that weren't yours.
And I hate
how my sorrow
spilled into your hands.
Wounds are mine alone,
so why
were you the one
who ended up crying?

So I try to shake off the past,
whispering that I can fix it,
that I can make it up to you-
While pretending the old wounds
could be mended.

But scars are still there,
ugly as they seem.
With the undone past inflicted on us,
I'm still showered
in wounds, as ever.

But I learned how to grow,
to make my skin thicker,
to shrink them in my sight.
They can never fully heal, never.
We just learned
how to live with them.

I feel wrong,
pushing you away
when you were trying to soothe me.
And your door was no longer open,
while mine remained shut.
But I know-
a past once made
is unchangeable.

So I step out of my walls,
and knock on your door.

Hey.

Will you give me a chance
to make amendments?
Open your door,
just a little
and let me try again?

Will you let yourself
be forgiven?
Forgive the child you were
for not knowing better?

Letting go
is the hardest grace—
but sometimes,
it's the only way
we learn to live.