I thought you cut my wings,
took my innocence for a swim in a dirty bath.
I thought I will never feel pure again.
“I will never be whole.”

My feelings have a face now,
your face, when I remember them
and I am still unsure if it hadn’t been easier
to live with just their echoes in my mind.

I thought I will always be
damaged.
Misplaced.
Left on the side.

That I will never find a home.
That I will never be completely mine.

Sometimes I still cry, when I think of the past.
I feel the remains of your fingertips on my thighs.

I thought I would always be broken,
and never ok.
Yes, healing takes time,
I thought mine will not have an end.

Sometimes it still hurts,
when I look behind,
sometimes it still feels,
that there’s someone who haunts (me).

But I raised from the ashes
of your dirty grasp.

I am standing here now,
with my wings spread a-wide.
Not feeling broken,
neither left out.
What you thought you have taken,
has always been mine.

If I saw your face now,
I would not want to hide.
It’s not me,
it is YOU who should be afraid of my spine.

To me you don’t matter,
you are just the past.
A vision, a memory,
which I hope will not last.

I thought I would always
have your mark on my mind.
Turns out I will always know,
just what I left behind.

You know what, I tell you, you know how it goes,
a fighter is never prepared for his wounds.

They ache and they itch,
and sometimes they bleed.
Even the smallest of bruises
can leave a nasty scar.

But the fighter does not care
how many bruises he’ll get.
He just searches for ways
on how to get back on his feet.

And that’s all who I am,
a fighter who never gives up.
That’s what I became,
because of my past.