Forgive me Lord

I used to live for revenge. I thought it would make me whole. I thought it would erase the sting, the betrayal, the knife of their words and actions. I was petty, I was sharp, I was ruthless in my thoughts. I plotted. I schemed. I imagined the satisfaction of seeing them falter, of proving to the world who was “right.”

But it never freed me. Oh no. Every act of spite, every flicker of vengeance I nursed, it devoured a piece of me. It gnawed at my joy. It turned my heart sour. It made me angry, bitter, small. I became someone I hated.

And then I realized: I don’t belong in that fire anymore. I turned it over to God. Some days I stumble. Some days I still joke about revenge, about “getting even,” because the shadow of my old self still lingers. But it’s just a shadow. I don’t feed it.

Now, I wish them well. I release them into the wind. I walk forward with my chest open, my soul unchained, my spirit fierce. I fight for myself now—not to hurt anyone, not to prove anything—but to claim every ounce of joy, every scrap of peace, every drop of strength I almost lost. I rise every day, raw, unbroken, relentless, striving to be the best version of myself. And that… that is my victory.