Closed doors blocked my view,
the view of of what life could be.
The scent of roses I never knew,
and concept of peace I could never see.

I stood facing this door most of my life.
I kept my tears for later.
until my role as an innocent wife,
was ended by my creator.

Twice not once, but once too many.
I always asked my soul to soften.
My memories of love are few if any,
twice not once but once too often.

I've learned to forgive but to forget is not real.
I seek my pride in where it is high.
It's where the closed door used to conceal,
deep in my tears that I carefully cry.

I don't hate the men that hurt me,
nor do I wish them harm.
For they will soon come to see,
They cant persuade God with their charm.

I am 21 but I'm old, in the sense that I know pain.
So what ever hurts me now in life, it's all cool.
My morals and dignity forever remain,
as long as I follow one simple rule.

To move on....that's all anyone can do.
To dwell on our hurt, we basically die.
Now I am able to say and it's true,
I was cured by my Lord, because He told me to cry.