I didn't realise that my childhood was wrong
Until I left the cage of my 4 walled bedroom.
I thought all my emotions were wrong and invalid
Always apologising
Sorry I shut the door to my bedroom,
Sorry I woke up too late,
Sorry i haven't clean my room in forever,
Sorry I left food on my plate,
Sorry i haven't showed emotions in a while
Sorry I answered when i should have stayed quiet,
Sorry I questioned your authority.  
I'm sorry I kept forgetting that I'm lucky to even be here.
This room a luxury
This bed a luxury
This food a luxury
A roof over my head a luxury
People that care for me are a luxury.
What a luxury to be afraid in this home

I took my first breath
The moment my emotions bled into words.
All the trama I kept bottled up
Slowly became smaller than they once were.
Slowly healing from all the damage that I had breathed in
Every letter is a stitch that is sewing me up

I'm never going to pretend
That I am more foolish and idiotic
Than I already am
So someone else will be more relaxed
And at ease with my intellect and company.
I also won’t laugh at a joke
Just to make my company more agreeable
Or dress the way others want me to wear
I will show my intelligence
Like a family jewel
And my humour like a native language
My cloths will exhibit my unwillingness to fit in.

Oh dear, my love it looks like you've stumbled across my work
My words, my thoughts all about you.
Some are kind and some are full of pain.
I know you wont like some of them or even all
But there about you
And how I slowly learned how to heal
Healed from how you made me feel so fulfilled
But then eventually how I felt so used.
So then my love, I'm sorry.
I'm sorry for sharing my words, my emotions, my truth

One of the hardest things I've gone through is having to say goodbye to someone who had already left themselves. When one gives up but the other still is undoubtedly and wholeheartedly still in love with the other. But a goodbye greets the empty space doomed as the heartfelt words are absent from their ears. Their gone but the memory still remains deep down unable to be heaved up

Why do you do that?
Why do you forgive me so easily?
Why do you give me another chance to mess things up again?

I am a collection of all my worst days
All wrapped up neatly for the next to open
Like pass the parcel people have ripped away layers of me
And pinned it on their wall for their collection, their victory.
But my prize does not define me.
My prize inside is not your conquest, your victory lap.
It was never yours to begin with,
And I'm still trying to remember that.