A Promise to Myself

I have made a promise to myself,

And I am good at keeping promises.

No longer will I pour my soul into empty hands,

No longer will I offer my light to those

Who do not know the cost of its burning.

Every tear I cried found a wounded stranger,

And I thought — they need saving.

So I gave them my arms, my strength, my breath,

But they were weeping for the ruins they built themselves.

And I, faultless in my devotion,

Paid the price for their storms.

I have made a promise to myself,

And I am good at keeping promises.

No longer will my kindness be currency

For the loyalty that never comes.

Every embrace I gave, every wound I mended,

Will now belong to me.

I have seen faces shattered by sorrow,

I have offered them all that I had —

Gentle hands, patient love, a quiet place to heal.

But when they found joy,

They left my hands empty,

As if I were a ghost of their own making.

I have made a promise to myself,

And I am good at keeping promises.

No stranger shall sip from my chalice

While I thirst for a love unreturned.

No unfamiliar sorrow shall steal my tenderness

When my own heart still bleeds.

I know the depth of my own wounds,

I know the history of my own battles.

I will be the embrace I always sought,

The comfort I once scattered like seeds in barren fields.

Every tear I wiped for another,

I will now wipe from my own cheek.

Every heart I kept from breaking,

I will now fiercely guard within my chest.

Every healing touch I gave away,

I will lay, tender and fierce, upon my own soul.

I have made a promise to myself,

And I am good —

So very good —

At keeping promises.