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Mercy Now

 


You came to me, asking for mercy,
pleading for the sake of your unborn,
for the tenderness of your wife,
for a forgiveness you say you now deserve,
because you were "just a child."

But when I was fragile,
when I was an open wound in this world,
your words were stones and you threw them,
your hands were knives and you wielded them.
The child in me was buried under bruises
you called "just a phase."

And now, here you stand,
eyes wide, wrapped in the innocence of fatherhood,
a child again, you say, looking to me for shelter.
But did you forget how you crossed my boundaries,
how you fed off my spirit to quiet your own chaos?

I see you, cloaked in fresh humility,
but my own scars still bleed.
How do I forgive what still lives in me,
what broke and remade me a thousand times,
to suit your whims and ease your fears?

This mercy you seek,
it isn’t mine to give anymore—
not because I am bitter,
but because mercy begins with those
who knows the price of pain.
And you still seem so sure
that forgiveness is owed.

So walk away, take this plea with you,
for I am still learning the shape of my own heart,
the mercy I owe myself first.

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