JUDE UMOREN

Am I really the good person I believe I am? Or have I simply become fluent in excusing the parts of me I would condemn in someone else? Have I simply become skilled at forgiving my wrongdoings  before anyone else gets the chance? Do I call it wisdom when it is only convenience? Do I call it honesty when it costs me nothing? I have called my flaws "being human," and my silence "keeping the peace." Perhaps my kindness is selective. Perhaps my patience has conditions. How many people are still holding grudges against a version of me I've already outgrown? I have judged hearts using actions, yet begged to have mine judged by intentions. The mirror has never argued with me. It only returned the face I was willing to see. So today, I ask not to be called good, but to be shown where goodness in me still has room to grow.

I’ve been swinging punches in the dark With fists full of borrowed courage Fighting something nameless that attacks And that also breathes when I do. I called it a demon. It knew my every weakness. Where to press. When to whisper. How to make me fall apart quietly. I thought I was brave, For surviving the nights it dragged me through. But tonight, I stopped running. And it stopped chasing. We stood there same breath, same heartbeat, same shaking hands. And I wondered… What kind of monster knows me this well? What kind of enemy sounds like my thoughts? What if the war, Was never out there? What if every scar I carry, has my handwriting on it? What if… I’m the monster, I’ve been trying to kill?