My future was in your hands and
like the hairs that you pulled from the root,
you tore it to shreds.
They say we learn from our parents,
and so I can’t help but wonder
if Grandpa and Grandma did the same to you?

What the statistics don’t say
is that sometimes
the effect is opposite.

You hurt me so tremendously
that it left a permanent scar
on my heart.

Your hatred and violence
turned me
to love and compassion.

What was once cuts on my arm–
I still see the scars–
is now beautiful paintings, poems,
words scribbled as if they alone
give me oxygen to breathe.

My world is beautiful.
I love too hard and I hurt too easily,
I am who you made me.
But I am not you.

I overcame you.

I forgive you.


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