50. Eulogy for Myself

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I was not a bad person.
I was only lost
in a room I built from fear,
each wall another apology
I didn’t owe.

I used to mistake anger for breathing—
each exhale a defense,
each inhale a wound reopened.
I called it survival.
And maybe it was.

There was a version of me
who kept trying to be smaller,
folding themselves like paper,
hoping the world
would stop cutting at the edges.
They were not cruel.
They were only tired.

Today I bury that self
not out of shame
but gratitude.
They carried me through storms
I could not name.
They held my shaking hands
when no one else did.

So I speak now—
not as a mourner,
but as a witness.

Thank you
for breaking,
for holding,
for becoming the ground
I can finally stand on.

I am not you anymore,
but I am because of you.
Rest.

I’ll take it from here.


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Oct 29, 2025 20:44 by Absinthe

You have been so busy. Wow.

Oct 30, 2025 05:51 by Jacqueline Taylor

It took me most of the day to get these all put in and presented into the collected the way that I wanted them. But they are poems that I have written over years. I've just decided that I wanted to give them a place to exist rather then just hiding in the corners of my computer or on scraps of paper in my desk!

Piggie