I’ve carried shame like one carries a child to protect. Preparing space in my womb for those who thought they knew me better than I knew myself. Sometimes you need to sit with it, ruminating within you, burning until it becomes unbearable. Sometimes you need to move with it. Sometimes you need to let it move you. A cloud doesn’t wait until you're ready to receive its rain. Why should I keep my truth in purgatory for you, until you’re ready to see yourself? Who are you to tell a tree how to grow, to tell a river when to flow? Who am I to tell you how to love me? I'd rather you love yourself.
