I was 8. I was 18. I was 19. 

The burdens and trauma that I carry are more than enough to last multiple lifetimes

Lifetimes filled with darkness, heartache, and pain 

Constantly wondering when it will finally end

When I’ll finally be free of the misery holding me

I find myself wondering if it was somehow my fault

Maybe I could’ve fought harder 

Learned to protect myself 

Never left my room

Never rode the bus

Never wore those clothes

Never trusted anyone 

It’s hard to rationalize it 

Making sense of other people’s senseless actions 

Despite it all, I somehow still have hope

Hope that history will not repeat itself 

Hope that I will be cherished and loved

Hope that I will be protected, at all costs

Hope that someone will value my life 

Hope that one day I won’t have to fight anymore

I don’t want to live a life led by fear

I want to live freely, happily 

Without the fear of being hurt by the people I choose to trust 

I want to be whole again

I hope one day I’ll be free

Dear Lord, please heal my soul