I still have those…dark kind of days.
Still I struggle in moments to find my own way.
Healing a heart is a journey of self love and care.
Stripping the layers built in painful years.
Broken pieces in memory and sometimes they are what I see.
Fear and doubt always at the ready, but I keep my focus level and steady.
There’s a part of me angry for what was done.
A part of me lost in wanting to escape and run.
A part of me full of tears and confusion.
A part of me disbelieving the convincing illusions.
A part of me only thinking of healing.
A part of me avoiding the way I’ve been feeling…
A part of me slowly learning the truth behind the lies.
A part of me still a child, helpless and alone as she cries.
A part of me empowered to create a life that is mine.
A part of me conditioned to smile and pretend everything is fine.
A part of me hopeful for a future ahead.
A part of me fighting the depression and reliving every act you committed and every word you ever said.
But I won’t ever stop trying.
At thirteen I wasn’t afraid of dying.
Healing only became possible when I stopped denying.
There’s a life to live after surviving.