I wrote this poem for her — the younger me who believed the voices saying she was too much. This is the rewrite. The assurance. The gentle reclaiming.
I can write this poem
And do it backwards.
If I could,
I would gather my younger self by hand,
I would walk her away from the voices that told her she was too much,
Too loud, too soft, too needy.
I can write this poem
And make her taste love without flinching,
I’ll let her sip it slowly
Not gulp it down with greed.
If I could do it backwards,
I would make her spit out the bitterness in her mouth
And not swallow the lies that told her she was unworthy
Unworthy of choosing. Of staying.
I can write this poem backwards
And undo this woman
Who loves carefully,
She will give without question
Opens her heart without fear.
I can write this poem
And do it backwards,
Demolish the home in her chest that doubt built,
So, she would not beg, not shrink,
She would know she is already enough.
Already loved. Already whole.
I can write this poem
And heal her.
Tell her she’s safe
Ask her to rest.
I can unmake the pain,
Undo the shame
And unlearn the harshness.
I can make her choose herself
Over and over again.
I can shrink back the fear
Give her a voice
That demands no apology for living.
I can write this poem
And separate the child and the mother,
The wounded and the healer.
I can write this poem
And do it backwards if I could.
Reflection
If I could write this backwards, I would undo the house built by doubt. And yet I cannot. What I can do is walk forward with her — steady, patient, and kind.
Related: The World Listens — another piece on trust, healing and stepping into worth
Nancy Atieno's Notes 