A beautiful Release

So focused on what hurt me,
I let it seep into my soul,
Slowly fading to please,
Desperately trying to prove you were wrong about me.

You said I wasn’t as pretty, not as smart,
So I fixated on that,
And the hurt grew deeper still.
I wondered, how stained could your soul be
That you couldn’t even see me?

Yet I’m convinced it wasn’t me you rejected,
But love itself—too broken to receive.
Your wounds needed more healing than what I could give,
I was like a doctor tending a wound, blind to his own.

Isn’t it strange how the eyes at times cannot see?
It was the beginning of deceit,

Constantly trying to understand , was  it me?

Was I the reason for your shift, or were you always this feigned?
But thank heaven for a doctor who could finally see,
For who knows where I’d be
Wandering, looking for a soul to touch,
So far lost, I’d forgotten that I had my own.

Grace pulled me from that place.
Still, every now and then, I think of her.
I reminisce on that time,
And yes, it’s risky to feel it all again.
If I could speak to her, what would I say?
An apology or a sigh of relief?
I’m not sure what she would need.

But what I do know is this:
We stopped searching for the truth,
Looking for answers we weren’t ready to hear.
Now, there’s a doctor who helps me see,
That maybe this life, as it is,
Is exactly how it’s meant to be.
There’s plenty in my field,

Regardless what you choose to see.