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Heavy Hands

A poet of 14 years. Trying to expand into new territory to see if people can be helped by my words. My goal is to impact positively.

''Accountability...''

You were so delicate...
My heavy hands could not hold you up without hurting you.
I proceeded with caution,
trying to do my best impression of a bandaid,
but the wounds were too much to bandage.

You were afraid.
As was I,
you just managed to hide it better.
And whether or not I was ready to accept the fact
that maybe somebody so fragile would be better off without me
The decision was made without me.

It's been eating at my mind.
and why I've allowed this thin thread of self-hatred
to wrap itself around my spine is beyond me,
but it probably has to do with the fact
that I'm so used to being used and abused,
and in the world I exist in
the culture is to allow it.

I like to be hurt...
Or so it seems.
yet, it has less to do with genes and more to do with environment.
Nature dictates the framework of life
but the intricacies therein are developed by the person.
and it has everything to do with what you allow.

Even knowing this...
It becomes increasingly evident
that any evidence to support my claims will not come from me.

You see, I'm a walking flame,
burning every bridge I come across
With a barrel roll, jump, or somersault
trying to escape what some would call
Accountability.

I think,
It's time to let go.
I no longer need to hear the echoes of my past,
Raining over me like a black cloud comprised of bad decisions.

And I need to let go of you.
It's been two years and it'll be naive for me to assume that you'd come back.
I just hope wherever you're going,
You're loved.

I hope somebody can love you the way I never could.

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