She said,
“Sometimes sorry is not enough.”
And those words haunt my mouth when I feel like saying it.
Because I didn't get it before it was too late.
I played pawn to trauma,
riding that bike until my wheels fell off.
I get what they mean now,
when they said,
“Get over it.”
This hill was too much to petal past,
and that's why I was left behind.
Because in truth,
the person I once was,
and the person I became,
knew that it was no one's struggle,
but my own.
And still I held out my hand to everyone around,
ignoring the poison that clung to my skin.

BY: J.M.M.POWELL


© J.M.M.Powell