Let it heal you. Tell your mother.
Let it heal you. Name yourself in a classroom.
Let it heal you. Lie beside a man whose hands
you trust. Let him wrap his arms around you
and say “Baby, you’re not broken.”
We are more than the worst thing that’s ever
happened to us. All of us need to stop apologizing
for having been to hell and come back breathing.
Your bad dreams are battle scars.
What doesn’t kill you cuts fucking deep
but scars are just skin growing back
thicker when it heals.
Let it heal you. Try. To be honest. Open.
Even if some days that means saying,
“I still feel broken. I’m too beat down to even get
out of bed. But I have faith, yes, tomorrow
I will stand.”
I’ll relearn justice. I’ll love without fear.
I will be braver than some monster who
crawled out from under my bed. I swear,
I will not give him the satisfaction
of being the thing that breaks me.