You can forget it, but it won’t forget you.
It follows you, a shadow in your wake,
with no trace left behind it, no evidence of your fight;
the world keeps turning, your stomach churning,
yearning for the acceptance you always needed.
No amount of overturning the past will erase it,
the burning on your skin, fire blazing,
the clawing at your mind,
for a memory you knew was there the day before,
the month before,
the year before you changed.
Before you were considered mature beyond your years,
can you hear it? Still?
Like missing something that was never there,
how it felt to be normal,
your identity fixed again into one.
The shards of what was once whole, now shattered
into too many pieces to decipher,
the only remnants of what you once were, what could’ve been.