Weightless Forgiveness

Letter to the reader:

A dialogue between a woman who has endured the unimaginable pain of rape and trauma, and both the "little girl" within her—the part of herself stripped of innocence—and Jesus, to whom she turns in her search for safety and healing. It is a journey of wrestling with fear, anger, and doubt as she hesitantly surrenders her past to God. The piece ends with a hopeful resolution, as she begins to trust in His promise of restoration and a future filled with light and freedom. This is not an easy read, but it is a powerful one—written for those who know the weight of pain and the courage it takes to choose hope.

Forgiveness that took it all.

Letting go of such a past, 

allow for a future to become your new story. 

Your chapters to gain hope, 

your darkness to become a part 

of the shrinking image in your rearview mirror.

Hope attained from only one, 

a life for another, 

the greatest exchange. 

A promise of eternity. 

Pass over your past 

for it is no longer a part of the version 

you strive to be. 

What past?

The one where hands still shadow my arms, 

the feeling still on the back of my neck 

when a male is near, 

fear of repetition in trepidation. 

Let go of the worst thing to ever happen?

The thing that turned my world apart? 

Silenced me, damaged me, angered me.

Let go little girl.

I stand, 

tears falling down my face, 

clothes torn, 

tightening around my throat, 

a memory bringing on current pain.

Let go little girl, he is not here.

How can I forgive, 

not one, 

nor two 

but double digits 

of pain inflicted?

A society that torments me 

for flaws 

yet tells me 

my smile and height 

is why I was hurt.

Let go little girl.

Years of separation from joy, 

catapulted into a world I never wanted, 

isolation encapsulating me, 

an entire gender 

hated.

The fact we call God 

male 

triggers annoyance, 

the sermons t

hat preach about 

husbands 

cause an irk in my stomach.

Little girl

let

it

go

I stood up,

I screamed, 

I ran, 

I fought, 

I took my power back 

in the most harmful way.

Discovering such pain in many, 

women whose feet walk the same streets, 

the pain 

weighing down the lightness

of the joy once felt

when the sparkle in my spirit saw the sun. 

yet the forecast has been overcast

and torrential tears keep streaming.

Folding any change of sun, 

 as the flower searches its petals wilt, 

as the hibernation becomes inevitable 

Little girl you can give it to me.

Transformations disclosing a past never aligned, 

train tracks

 but your license is in aviation. 

Rounding edges 

on your perfect box 

for who can possibly be more than one mold?

A personal trainer interested in poetry?

An actor who loves to cook, 

for how could we merge past a status quo?

Loneliness

cripples my once light feet, 

now battered and bruised. 

Eyes 

similar to a frightened deer. 

Headlights 

but what is the intention of the driver?

Do I shut them? 

Clench my crows feet 

and allow the wrinkles to resemble the claws 

of such a feathered Aerie-dweller 

to swoop down and devour such prey. 

pray , pray and conversate, 

yet what of my innocence? 

My hope

 of something to be more 

than dark and holding shades of only grey?

Little girl you have a season to enter but you must let go of the last.

Shut the book 

for your eyes have re-read 

each sentence a lifetime over. 

The curves of the letters 

Merge

into new words 

and the potential 

of recovery 

masked by the comfort 

of the known, 

even if it's an awful story. 

Can you breathe at all?

Each breath 

lingers 

in front of my wilted 

and weary body, 

its life taking mine, 

its power sucking out my own. 

Yet the very essence of humanity, 

the very essence 

of a lifes possibility 

without such pain 

allows for vocal cords 

to be dusted off 

and ears 

to finally 

reframe 

from the once deafness 

they called ‘socially normal’. 

Little girl your safety is mine to protect

Keep me safe? 

How will I know?

Seek first my kingdom.

Golden gates, 

white gowns 

floating down pathways 

decorated with lilies, 

clouds 

with such softness 

any bedding company would covert.

Today I breathe out 

the anguish, 

hatred, 

fear 

and allow myself 

to come home, 

to a kingdom 

whose address 

was carved 

into my birth story 

before even my grandmother 

took her first breath.

Breathe out 

what is no longer holding you,

the power is in your king, 

within you 

and 

what upholds you. 

Little girl, 

how does it feel 

to see colour once more? 

To feel 

lightness in your steps? 

And to feel air in your lungs?

Lightness, 

lifted.

Hopeful.