Letter to myself

I have not confronted my past
And i’m not sure if i’ll ever do it soon enough.

But if i do, ill tell her that
she doesn’t have to be canvas punching bag. Used.
She could be the fighter instead.
Thrash out her words to people who objectify her,
That made her feel like a tool.

She’s not. She is flesh and bones and skin
And many layers of muscle that covers her body
She didn’t needed to be stripped away with no dignity!

And underneath the little clothes she wore,
though she may feel so naked and empty,
She’s not.
She is full of hope, lots and lots of hope
and the clouds will never hover over her fragile broken heart and
her soul is to be released to the moon that sings for him.

I’ll tell her to be still,
to take deep breaths of patience and faith cause
her pain makes her fidgety and anxious and scared
Tell her that the demons after her need to be dealt with
and she should not run away till her legs felt like it was full of lead.
She doesn’t have to be alone in her nightmares
or choke and taste the metal in her mouth.

If i were to confront my present,
I’ll tell me that i’m okay, not good, but just take a breath,
and another and another,
because as long as she is breathing,
and her heart still beating erratically,
so will mine.


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