Defined by Damage
I walk through the echoes of my mistakes
that reply louder than the pulse in my chest
each one a shadow whispering
that I am less that I should be.
I hold guilt like iron,
believing I have poisoned the trust
my only love took forever to gain for me
I hear the old voices,
the ones that call me selfish,
lazy, unworthy of the air I take-
and they cling to me like smoke.
But somewhere beneath the noise,
a quieter truth trembles:
that I am more than the hurt I have I've caused,
more than the names I've been given,
more than the weight I've learned to carry.
And though the night feels endless,
there is a part of me still reaching,
still wanting to be seen,
despite knowing I will never be deemed
as something other than broken
or anything worthy of living.
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