A Soul’s Petition for What Was Lost

Can you give time back to me,
to say the things
I was too afraid to say,
do the things
I was too afraid to do,
be the person
everyone hoped I would be;

can you give time back to me,
to see the small mercies
of how fragile life is,
before words carried the edge of a knife,
to leave when staying cost my life,
to understand how not knowing comes at a price;

can you give time back to me,
to right wrongs,
to know better
the things I could not see then,
so I can dance differently,
finding rhythm within my own skin;

can you give time back to me,
to walk corners to their ends,
to stop bending into what is merely pretend,

but to shape into something true,

already written for me

that I never knew?

Time to build foundations
that will not give way,
to be bolder,
more confident in my talk,

stronger and more intentional in my walk—
finally returning to me;

time to acknowledge
the little things,
like soft whispers, the calmness of rain;

each step taken—

every word held or set adrift

were unknowingly mine,

but are now just things

lost to time.