Apart

by Morning Star

No love is sent,
no love is read.
No love is given—
in my heart, they’re dead.

Maybe they always were.
I just couldn’t see.
They crushed me inside—
I thought it was me.

They hate me.
They use me.
They gave me no home.
Yet still they expect
to be honoured like queens on a throne.

But once I stood up,
spoke my truth, let it show—
and look what that earned me:
a cold, bitter blow.

Now they turn from me
like I’m a disease,
as if my pain
were meant to please.

So now I stand here
with an open heart,
and I ask God gently
to do His part.

To forgive their harm,
their silence, their scars—
because whether I like it or not…
we are a part.