I once wrote a letter to a friend that broke her heart.
It told of truths straight from my start.
Things I’d never shared with light.
Things that I wanted to keep buried.
I had to share my truth.
I wrote about so much in my youth.
Afraid of what most people thought.
But not caring enough to hold my heart.
Finally, I had enough.
I screamed my truth from the treetops.
A few walked away from me.
It didn’t stop me from being free.
It set me on a brand-new path.
Of seeing myself and beyond my wrath.
It wasn’t pain I wanted to share.
It was the truth of my heart so rare.
I was repressed so long ago.
Made to believe how I felt shouldn’t be known.
Told to close out those feelings inside.
Shown to shove my feelings aside.
Now as I sit alone with my book.
I write this poem while reading books.
I feel so content in what’s been said.
I feel so alive and my head is clear.
I can move on with a new purpose of heart.
No longer down and hiding my spark.
My smile isn’t fake, and my time isn’t shallow.
I no longer cower about tomorrow.
She wasn’t the only who was hurt by my words.
And those who were hurt are flying like birds.
I can no longer contain the pain.
I had to let it out.
I had to make it rain.
My sister is still answering for her crimes.
And she is family but she never has time.
Time to see the part that she played.
In hiding my feelings and putting me in shame.
Now that I’m alive my mind won’t stop.
Creating poems and watching the clock.
Making sure I still have time.
Time to write out another line.