Writing it All

Can I write it all? … Even a life of scars.

Showing a sky not full of stars. A life that starts after a pause.

I see the child I used to be. A child that seems to flee from me.

A past I once could see. Is now a blessed blur to me.

A vision I see through tears. Real tears, from real fears.

So much to run from.

Until one day I said I was done.

I killed the child I once was. Rejecting all that I came from.

And here I stand, the standing end.

Pen in hand, I finally begin.




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