Why
Why do you mock me so, yet label it as love?
I know love is so much more than a word, its action, blessings from above.
Why is the hand that fed me, now the one to make me bleed,
the voice that soothed me, now spouting lies to deceive me?
I thought, in time, my guilt would fade, old wounds heal,
yet I am reminded of my past daily, though you speak forgiveness.
How can you twist my words, say my feelings aren't so,
that my pain is just in my head, cast me out, with nowhere to go?
And yet I still defend you, in all honesty I have learnt to believe you.
I loathe who I am, wish for the torment I am subject to, to end.
I have only ever tried my best, and yet its not enough.
No penance, I do, will ever suffice, I feel surrounded,
thrust into a corner, with demons on all sides.
Yes, we had good times, but they do not absolve the bad,
kept locked up as if pest or dog, not child, your blood.
I am weighed down by guilt, I no longer recognise myself.
Frightened by more rejection, that I refrain from letting others in.
I wish I could say I am okay, that peace, one day, shall prevail.
My worth lies in tatters, like dust, my pain to numerous to measure.
One day, I hope my heart, now a burnt charcoal, will smoulder again.
To learn trust, to feel love, and know I am worthy once more.
05.01.2021
Copyright © Charlotte Watkins | Year Posted 2021
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