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.