Insert: 48
They ordered breakfast
on my credit card
after I tried to die.
Eggs.
Hash browns.
A side of forgetting.
No call.
No pause.
No silence held in my name.
Just a transaction.
Just a receipt.
Just proof
that I was useful
even in despair.
I came back.
Not for them.
But for me.
For truth.
For breath.
For the binder that stayed open.
They never asked
what it cost me
to stay.
But I know.
And I remember.
And I write.
From heartbreak to healing, this poem is my journey—raw, honest, and deeply personal. I wrote it to honor the strength I found in the ruins, the growth that came from pain and the light I now carry forward.
© Jaime Pearson 2024. All rights reserved. Please do not copy, reproduce, or share without permission.
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