I would never dream.
Of hurting you the way you
hurt me
But baby you didn’t even know
it
You didn’t know what kind of
deep seeded shit I’ve dealt with in my short life
My internal monologue that
pushes me forward
And holds me back just the
same
But in other ways.
The amount of pain I’ve put
up with and normalised
Over my short life
The amount of people I’ve
been forced to forgive
The amount of people I’ve
given unwarranted second chances to
The inevitable heartbreak of
a broken home
The cause, the effect, the
ingrained defeatism. The residual effect. The residual self-hatred.
That I’ve had to shake
And grow from
And make my own mind up
about.
I will dream again
It might not be of you
For you
About you
Or with you.
But
I will dream again.
