I wake up every day and although it’s never the same,
most days I am ashamed.
Some days, I wake up and I feel happy.
Some days, I wake up and I feel broken.
Day after day.
Night after night.
Their ghosts haunt me.
Because,
I was hurt,
I was beaten.
Because
I let them hurt me,
let them beat me.
With their words,
their moods,
their hands.
I wake up and
I want to love myself and
I want to celebrate
that I am alive
that I have endured.
And yet,
most days I wake up and I am ashamed.