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The more I learn, the more I understand.

Patterns.
Trauma.
Boundaries.
The art of staying
without disappearing.

But the more I see
the harder it gets
to forgive myself
for not knowing sooner.

Because now,
I expect more from me.
Like I should’ve known
how to hold it all
before it broke.

Like I should’ve saved us
from who we didn’t know
we were becoming.

And I can hear
that small voice inside
beggingly, asking me
why love still feels
like trying all alone?

But even hearing that,
makes me feel
like I’ll never be enough.

Because I know
happiness is mine to build.
So is my safety.
So is my healing.
So is love.

But mantras don’t mute the pain.

And knowing doesn’t mean you know
how to stop digging the very hole
you keep trying to crawl out of.

I keep learning.
I keep almost falling.

I feel like walking a tightrope.
Standing steady,
with cliffs waiting
on both sides.

And maybe that’s the hardest part.
That even now, I still don’t know
how to stop breaking
under the weight of trying.

I still don’t know
how to save myself
from me.

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