I had grown
from the blood—
grown
from that pain,
grown from those
who left me behind that day.
Yet when I grew,
covered in blood, sweat, and tears,
I didn’t realize how tainted I was—
with new fears,
new unimaginable pain,
new illness,
all said to be “framed.”
I grew—
yet they left me broken,
with more blood
that keeps clotting up.
Now my future is clotting—
with that blood,
that regret,
that pain,
that shame
of not speaking up
when I could have—
of leaving myself
with this new pain.
Even though I can’t go back,
this growth
has left me
permanently
changed.
Any advice for a next poem!?