Coming “home” Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

I often hate myself,
despise my life.
I steep in shame.
I won't pick up the phone.
I poke each vice,
like jesting with a knife.
I hide my wounds and
keep myself alone.
I see the lucky ones,
spot those that cheat,
but I've learned things
I'm sure they'll never know.
I forge my soul.
Though strife transcend deceit.
You've greeted me
each time I dared to show.
I'm grateful for
your hands that reached
again and yet again,
though I had slapped them back.
I'm grateful for
your honest sharing,
when I felt unworthy.
Courage I still lack.
I'm grateful for
the failings you reveal,
the peace, the strength,
acceptance,
love
I feel.