When I hurt Me 💔

 

They say,

hurt people hurt people—

and I believe them.

But I’ve got a question

that keeps me bleeding:

Why do I keep hurting me?

I don’t raise fists,

don’t throw stones,

but I cast shadows at myself

like I don’t deserve sunlight.

I tell mirrors lies

and call them truth

because the voice in my head

still echoes like my mother’s silence

or my father’s rage.

I keep setting fire

to my own peace,

keep building bridges

just to burn them

before I ever cross.

I hand out love

like I’m on E—

and leave none for me.

Tell me,

how can I forgive the world

when I haven’t even forgiven

me

for not being invincible?

For breaking.

For bending.

For staying silent

when I should’ve screamed.

I learned pain like a second language,

fluent in guilt,

native in shame,

and now every “I’m okay”

feels like treason.

I got wounds that wear perfume

so nobody smells the truth.

Smiles stitched together

just tight enough to pass.

They say trauma’s a thief

but I’ve been the getaway driver.

I keep robbing myself

of rest, of healing,

of softness.

I don't need enemies—

I got me.

So again,

Why do I keep hurting me?

Maybe because

I thought pain was all I deserved.

Maybe because I mistook survival

for living.

Maybe because healing

feels like a language

no one ever taught me

but I’m ready to learn.

So I speak now—

to the me who is tired of bleeding,

tired of repeating

generations of unspoken sorrow.

You don’t have to hurt

to feel real.

You don’t have to ache

to matter.

You are not

what they did to you.

You are not

what you did to survive.

Hurt people hurt people—

but healed people

break chains.

And maybe

just maybe

that starts

with me creating a new lane

 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪