Clean from the womb,
I was born into the light of God
innocent and pure, an exaggerated lie.
I can’t remember those days
erased by sin-
forgiven but tainted again.
church bells only ring
when I’m feeling blue.
And He who hears our prayer
redeems us. Take in his blood
and your evil be released.
Breathe in a brand new day
Once, or twice-
forgiveness was long due.
Darkness became my faithful cloud again.
Black velvet shielded me,
black, nothing else.
That day, I never forgave again.
Still soft from wounds,
I bled again.
My words swore I’d never trust again.
I had been made impure from hurt.
Breathing in cancer
and hallucinations of pink and blue-
not the kind given from above,
killed the misery
for a moment or two.
I never looked back again.
It was a lonely night,
as dark as my haven when
I never knew how to walk under sunshine again.
I loved when lightning struck me,
shook my insides,
made me spin inside & out.
These were the confessions of something real.
I wasn’t lying that night
and I never lied again.
A page turned over invited trust in again.
But oh, what a betrayal it was again
filled with acrimonious lies.
I wanted to leave it all behind.
The music brought me to him
“and nothing else matters” was
the theme that played to
my chamber which bled its beat again.
I owned my life again,
and so I was reborn virgin.
Feelings took over this new chapter
of denial and doubt.
Voices in my head screamed for saviour,
yet always ignoring the warnings.
It was love he said he owed me,
and it felt as satisfying as a dagger.
You gave me
one or two
of “I promise you”
before I bled through my wounds again-
crimson and aloe.
Like a broken political agreement,
an added strand of mistrust tattooed
on a coronary artery.
I still came back again and again
and you were forgiven
again, but never again.
Author’s note: this is a poem about a first love that left a lifetime of scars to work through. Originally written more than ten years ago, and edited since then, it serves to remind me of the multiple injuries one can sustain through different kinds of abuse. Sometimes, we turn into the victims of our past and can’t identify why it is we suffer in the present. Use the learning experiences of your past as a tool to defend against repeating what hurts, not as a fuel for it to burn your future. Writing helps me remember as well as resolve. What about you?