There was a time in my life when I watched my own mother cry
into her pillow as she asked the Gods
what she did wrong in raising me.
From that moment on, I vowed to
never make her cry, again.
Sometimes I still struggle,
sometimes I think that I will always struggle
because I’m learning that the hardest thing
to have to accept
isn’t having people leave,
or trying to mend a broken heart—
it isn’t the cruel remarks— hushed or said so loud,
and it isn’t forgiving others,
it’s forgiving yourself.
That’s the hardest thing—
and I’m still trying.