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I've got wounds; the kind that take eons to heal.

Some are really just dry scabs - waiting for that one good yank to break apart and bleed all over, again.

I've got hurts that bleed me dry,

Painful words engraved in my psyche - awaiting that one opportunity so they can be appreciated via recall, and spat back at their givers.

I've got a pulse that sometimes seems steady on nothing else but retaliation.

And left to me, every tongue that has caused me heartache,

Every hand that has caused me pain,

Would be condemned to the substance of their nightmares - a Chateau D'if of their own doing.

I realise now that I've not only been hurt, but that I also, have a reason to forgive.

I have learnt forgiveness. From pain.