WoundedWounded by my own transgressions 

Many lessons and confessions 


Turning pale in comparison 

Libraries full of blunders 

Running from it all

Ignoring calls to dig in 

Lacerations appear where love is supposed to be 

Words are a first aid kit 

On the road to recovery 

Pity wrapped up in bandages 

Burned from choices

Ostracized in a dirty mirror 

Expectations of hurt flirt with me

Bemoaning each wound by retreating 

Enough of the internal beatings

No one can dispute therapeutic rhymes 

These hard times

No longer ruled by wounds 


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