The Weight I Carry

I am old, but not too old,
I am an echo of the years gone cold.
I am a soul weathered, but not sold.
I have walked through fire with burned feet,
Where kindness faltered, and cruelty beat.
Hands that should have held me near,
Left bruises deeper than they appear.
Words that should have caressed me
Came sharp as shattered glass.
Each word a splinter,
Etched deep in the past.

I am not broken, but sometimes I cry,
Hoping God protects me for the rest of my days from the sky.
For I know the truth that others hide,
behind their fake smiles and their pride.

I do not want pity, I do not want praise.
I just want some peace in my final days.
It is due to the weight I carry that has no name,
Not grief, not guilt, not rage, not shame,
But something older than my skin,
A silence carved deep within.

How do I bond when I have been burned?
When trust is something never earned.
When every hug recalls a sting,
And kindness feels like a foreign thing.

I wrote this poem because I have been through a lot in life. I am old, but not to old. I have seen a lot and been through a lot.

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Suzzie or Susan or whatever or Sussane Other August 25, 2025 at 8:46 pm 0 0