A Forgiving Person

My family will never understand all the pain
they’ve inflicted on me; they can’t undo
the damage that was so flawlessly sown
on my skin. I can’t take away all the hurtful
words they threw in my face like acid, but I am
a forgiving person; my mind could’ve
experienced scarring for life. They laughed
at me and played with my emotions
in my weakest moments; I spent
more time crying than laughing.

I grew up way before my time, taking care of
kids that weren’t mine; they’ve never taken
the time to listen, assuming my depression
and suicidal feelings were all in my head.
They tried to talk me into believing I was crazy
while I juggled with living or dying.


For a long time, I dealt with resentment
just the sound of my family’s voices
or their names would set off sirens
in every direction in my head. Memories
of the past still sits with me
and keeps me company at night; I was
traumatized almost to the brink of madness
I kept the door open to darkness.