Burnt Sugar

The scent of burnt sugar.

Something so sweet turned bitter,

that was me. Young and innocent, now burnt beyond recognition.

You pushed me and I fell, skinned my once soft knees,

now hardened by time, by age, by wear.

Was I perfect? Or is my perfection now in my flaws;

flaws that I tried to hide from the world, but now I hold to the light?

These actions shaped me; the fire, the shove, the harmful words…

Should I be grateful?

Grateful for the pain that I have been subject to?

Grateful for the pain I caused in return?

Our trails make us who we are, and now that I love me, love what I have become, do I love you?

Love. Love for the bringers of pain. Love for the bullies. Love for my abusers.

Your harmful words are written on my body in invisible ink, only I can read them.

I cover them with words people can read so I can hide them,

but I know they are there; scars that will never vanish, but that may fade.

They will become obsolete as love runs over me, like a thick lotion.

Love that also shapes me into who I am, the person I want to become.

No, I do not love what you did to me.

But I can forgive.

No, I do not thank you for the pain you’ve inflicted,

but I can love you anyway.

These painful moments, my all time lows, have made me, me.

To a creme brulee, the burnt sugar serves a purpose.

I am sweet again.




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