Circatrices

I was born out of pain, of sorrow –

Subdued and then, delivered

I was nurtured by broken hopes,

Emerging from fallen castles of dreams

I was raised in depths of uncertainty

Whilst drowning in waves of remorse

I have grown with immense hatred

With trivial fury as the antecedent

I have mastered the art of deception

Masked by charades of tenacity

I have created a palace for numbness

For the less one feels the better

I am in a crusade where endurance

Made it harder to fight and thrive

I am forlorn not because of loneliness

Rather, of animosity towards myself

Finally, I am all but a scar –

A sigil for the healing that is yet to come

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