Kiran Speaks

A voice within me has started to chant,
Preservere, preservere, preservere…
LIVE.

I don’t want to be shamed for this or for that;
in a life that’s been lived, something will always look bad
in the eyes of a holy court that decides who belongs,
but just because my story is different doesn’t mean it’s wrong.
I lived and I learned; I lied and I told the truth,
even did the “right” thing, but a penalty follows each path I choose.
Dig your claws out of my lived life— God, I can’t bear it anymore,
see me for who I am— no; you hold up the stains on my old clothes—
clothes I threw away and burned, and some I gave to an old thrift store
so someone else can wear them because they’re not mine to be worn. 
I spent a lifetime running from who I am, hanging my head in shame,
but how can anyone possibly understand a life that began with pain?

A child with a part of her lost,
a girl whose innocence didn’t last,
a teenager whose youth was the cost,
a woman who lives in the past.

The cycle of recovery goes on and on, never seeming to end,
the court of judgement may exist, but the main judge is in my head.
I can take your word, your testimony, and pass the verdict against myself,
but if I accept defeat and reject my truth, then I’ve already accepted Hell.