Recovery Through Words

Under needful eyes, I tend to those I love.
There is happiness, laughter at times. Moments of mirth.

One second, all is at peace. Then, I slip.
I missed something. I forgot. I reacted improperly.

Scorn. Disappointment.
Another failure, a scrap torn from the tattered tapestry of my soul.

Forgiveness comes, more laboured with each little wrong.
Determined, I pull on, speaking through keys rapidly tapped in the dark of night.

Expression is my saviour, sharing is my deliverance.
For only paper or screen serves as canvas for my inner self.
Only with a palette of 26 colours can I paint its beauty.

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