I sat at the door,
and this is not a poem.
This is my pride returning,
a “please let me love myself now” kind of thing
a “Please God, do not give me a heart that can hold this much love that when grief comes it doesn’t die”.
I sat at the door,
and this is not a sad psalm
this is grief saying “welcome back”.
saying you’ve loved so now you know agony like she's family.
I sat at the door
and this is not a “please let me back in”,
this is goodbye
this is a “ regardless of this hurt
thank you God for giving me these scars”
I can now say I have loved
I can now say I have lived.
© Hope