
Is a matter of seconds,
While building it,
A matter of years,
Not an accusation
But a belief,
That childhood
Is filled with
People and thieves,
Stealing the confidence
Gifted at birth,
Like it was nothing
But dirt,
To get it back
Was a huge task,
When as a child
We were simply
Taught to ask,
It took me years,
If not decades,
To snatch it back
From the hands of beings
Both cruel and smiling,
Making my existence
Feel like drowning,
Though a battle
Worth fighting
And a prize
Worth owning,
To get back
What was mine,
Felt unfair
Again and again
With time,
And then it
Hit me hard,
That maybe
They had borrowed it,
As a reward
For being born before
And not having
A worthy core,
And an epiphany
At best
Could make me
At the behest
Of understanding
Forgive them
And forget.
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