The scar that makes me, me

I woke up and I cried.

I cried for the past.

I cried for the pain.

I cried in anger.

I cried because I thought,

That I'd processed this hurt.

I cried because I dreamt.

I dreamt of that fateful event.

The one where you created a wound,

The one where you removed my solid ground.

This dream opened a scar,

The one that runs very far.

This scar I guard,

But sometimes it's a little hard.

As it gets caught,

And brings back memories I thought I'd fought.

You see I've now learnt, that guarding doesn't mean healing,

And healing doesn't mean forgiving.

You need to heal to forgive and forgive to heal,

But where that process starts depends on how you feel.

But to feel means to unguard,

To unguard means to discard.

Discard what? I don't know,

But it's okay, I'm continuing to grow.

And although this is a scar you can't see,

It's one that makes me, me.