Who, in the group of people I was born unto,
Has said, “I’m sorry.”
So a wound that would heal with “I love you, and I’m sorry,”
Festers, and like gangrene grows.
If only someone, anyone, had said,
But no one came. I was left alone, and couldn’t, didn’t heal.
Until time wore on. Rage spun its course.
I found a way to peace
All on my own…