Making my peace with you is the hardest battle.
What is shame, what is guilt, what is self-loathing
In the face of death? Why must they be so heavy?
Why can’t they be pointers to show how far we’ve come?
How much we have changed for the better, that we have learned?
That we acted then erupted out of despair and confused loneliness?
That we were just children, in mind and body, that couldn’t
Grow up, didn’t know how, wandered around, empty
And yet so overfilled?
I have been my own harshest judge.
Punishing myself every single day as I grew,
As I finally started to grow as I escaped, as I
Was finally alone with myself, with who I
Truly was and had lost in so many processes
That weren’t mine and yet, and I realised I
Couldn’t go on and on hurting myself for all
The things that went wrong and were left unsaid,
It’s enough already, and I chose to live, and live better,
Learned, enlightened out of sheer darkness,
Reestablishing a relationship with myself,
Unsullied, with my boundaries intact, with my own
Language, I’ve put my past to rest,
Exhausted from the resuscitations, the nitpickery.
My body, as it is now, is all I need and serves me so well.
Croque-Melpomene 