You taught me the ways of absolution,
You showed me how to forgive myself…
But it is an act I have not managed
Yet to master…
Bestow a golden crown upon my heart,
It has no mind and pays no heed,
And rules me as I cannot rule myself.
It offers up forgiveness
To those I have despised, and those I will despise.
To those who have hurt me…
But why do I owe them forgiveness?
How are they deserving of such mercy that
I cannot even grant myself?
These scars I bear, they are indeed mine,
Crafted by my own hand.
They are burdens I know I should share,
And yet carry alone.
For I fear weakness more than
The self-destruction I am content
To inflict upon myself every day,
And every waking hour of the night.
I hide them, these wounds and burdens.
They are not for the eyes of the world to see.
Though they were a thing of beauty once,
But no more…
Their numbers have swelled these nights past,
Despite my resolved yet crumbling will.
They are a mark of shame.
And they stretch from my faltering heart
To the very depths of my soul
To the surface of my skin.
They scream one word in unison:
For I am weak.
How else could it
Have come to this?