It’s not a secret that healing is not linear.
It is, actually, a bunch of scattered dots.
Upon connecting them, I should see meaning.
But the picture is still not clear at all.

All I see are reasons proving I was never enough.
The things I learned to forsake because I always got a “no”.
Pleads that now seem simple—not a big ask anymore.
Maybe the problem was I didn’t deserve love.

At least, that is what I was brought to believe,
Through the silence of my unanswered questions.
It’ll take a while to unpack the weight of all these years—
The jokes at my expense, and the hurtful comparisons.

At times, I felt fine in my heart; then, I’d feel devastated.
I would smile, then end up crying at a corner café.
Complaining to my friends became a commonplace.
I learned to disassociate as a means for self-defense.

My ego was fragile and I was reminded to tread lightly,
Since, from war, I did not emerge victorious.
Even in the clearest skies, rain is still likely.
Those words were a mantra for this humble warrior.

Underestimating the passage of time would be unfair.
Some scars are still visible, but at least they no longer bleed.
I was always ill-prepared for life’s deadly game—
In the aftermath of choosing me I felt too weak.

Today, I am no longer overburdened by intrusive thoughts.
I am thankful to the old me for making me who I am now—
So brave inside, yet so soft still to the outside world.
I have grown a little cynical, but perhaps this, too, is healing somehow.