Tell Them:

Tell Them:

When they ask
tell them I stood
when I wanted to fall,

that I raised my chin
when I wanted to bow my head.

Tell them the darkness
closed itself around me
and with one grasping hand
I reached to catch the sunlight.

Tell them I was a brutal thing to behold,
a broken, bloodied thing,
a mess that persisted in spite of it all.

Tell them I wrote
until my ink ran dry,
that I used my blood
to tell my story,

that when all else was lost
I left my mark on stone
and concrete
and tree trunks,

that the world was less
for harboring me
but was made more
for letting me grow.

Tell them I was the setting sun
necessary for another daybreak.

Tell them I belonged
to the end.



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