I used to stroke my grandma's face
When sitting by her side,
But, now, too often, simple touch
Can make me want to hide.
When I was small, someone betrayed
My innocence and trust;
Leaving me with jagged wounds:
Shiny outside, inside rust.
I wore the facade of "okayness"
Lying to me, most of all.
Robbed of a means of affection,
Fear led me to build up my walls.
There exists hope in my story.
Love patiently comes to heal me.
Slowly, we inch toward progress.
One day, I will rise — truly free.