Connection, life, musings, Poetry, rebirth, relationships, spirituality, Trauma

I’M NOT PERFECT.

I’M NOT PERFECT.

Forgive me.
Forgive me for my pain.
My raw, aching, bleeding heart.
At least that’s how it feels.
The loss.
The destruction.
The breaking and collapse.
The surging, pained, life surging through.
Caused by I.
Created by I.
Magnified by I.
Please have patience with me.
I may be delicate.
I won’t hold it all together.
I shan’t.
I can’t.
I won’t.
I allow myself to break.
Break the illusions.
To free the inner turmoil.
My masculine and feminine.
Begging to be heard.
To be seen.
To be at peace.
Yet struggling to find the balance.
Wounded war.
Deep, deep, deeper.
Still.
Outside reflecting the inner.
Projection of past.
Shame speaks.
How can I heal.
Lost in pain.
Deeper in self.
Down, down, down.
Deeper.
Breathing.
Wild.
Alive.
Delicate.
Still.

Bec Hart.

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