I used to get so angry looking back
And watching through the lens of memory
My young self--quiet, chubby, dressed in black--
Wallow in self-made sloughs of misery.
I used to spit bile and choke on the wrongs
That stung me still across so many years--
A pain like ghosts of hornets, which belongs
Elsewhere, forgot--and yet remembered here.
But now, older, I come to know the truth:
The past is just a house where no one lives,
Its cobweb-clouded rooms and sagging roof
Haunted only by hearts that can't forgive.
Look back and smile, but let the past decay.
Now move toward the light, and fly away.
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