I'm fashionably late to loving myself

too soon

the strike of a palm

to land on my cheeks

too soon it did

the venomous words spat

and my gradually decaying esteem

surely too soon

too soon for me to reciprocate

and too soon to defy

too soon to fathom

the burning sensation

the rolling tears

and the hiccups

the power you held

and the damage you dealt

followed me throughout

the age, that was late enough

to get rid of the stains

but too late it was

I fell behind undoubtedly

when laughter boomed in the hallway

and I couldn't join in to laugh

or even relate to it

when tears fell from their eyes

and I could not understand

I felt as though

when I was busy picking up

pieces of broken glass

the rest had taken multiple steps ahead

I felt left behind

and although I tried to rush

the pieces that kept escaping my brace

kept me from rushing too

and my feet fell upon them

only to make wounds deep enough

enough to pierce through my heart as well

as I saw people progress and celebrate

too soon I was to realize

that the events I witnessed

right before me

were too soon to have happened to me

too soon for me to decipher or comprehend

stuck on my feet like shackles of weight