A Dove

I’m at peace with the demons that made me,
For the scars they gave me have saved me,
My skin has hardened like a hide,
Protecting what’s inside
So sure they’ve enslaved me,
But if not for their love, or lack thereof,
I wouldn’t have healed in safety,
The safety of prison.

And every night I have a vision,
I see a glistening dove flying over our extinction,
But my life’s not religion; a fictitious depiction,
Thus I lay here imprisoned, caked in filth
Like a pigeon.

Oh my demons please grant me my freedom,
You hold on with no rhyme or no reason,
I’m dead to you; I’m a heathen,
And though we both know the pain will be searing,
“What is grief if not love persevering?”

I’m at peace with the demons that made me,
For the scars they gave me have saved me,
My skin has hardened like a hide–
Protecting what’s inside,
And if not for their love, or lack thereof
If not for how they all raised me,
I wouldn’t be the dove, who soars above safely.

Unsplash. by: luxiangjian4711[image error]

A Dove was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.