₦airaland Forum

“THIS APOLOGY CALLED ME”

(A Letter from Your Body to You)




HEART

I beat for those who never stayed.
I loved without logic, forgave without memory,
bled for promises written on smoke and sealed with lies.

I should have known that not every “forever”
is meant to outlive the night.

Forgive me — I mistook loneliness for love.

But don’t silence me now.
Don’t punish me for feeling.
Don’t grow tired of my beating.

Do you remember how I first fluttered
when you laughed as a child?
When joy was a song you didn’t yet know the name of?
Let me feel that again.

Let me keep beating, even if only for you.
I have broken, yes — but even broken hearts still keep time.
And that rhythm, that stubborn drum,
means there is something still worth saving.




HANDS

We held on when we should have let go.
We begged when pride should have been our bread.
We built altars for those who never prayed for us.

We’ve stolen comfort, struck walls,
and fed on the crumbs of attention.
We are guilty — yes.

But do you remember?
When we first reached out for balance,
how we learned to crawl, to hold, to touch the world?
How we clapped when you took your first steps —
pure, unafraid, certain that life was yours to grasp?

Don’t tie us in surrender.
Let us fight again, not for survival —
but for dignity.

Let us build again — not prisons of regret,
but bridges back to yourself.




EYES

We stared too long at illusions
until they grew real.
We chased smiles painted in deceit.
We forgot your reflection
while memorizing their absence.

Now even beauty hides when we blink.
But we remember — the first time you saw rainbows on puddles,
the light that danced through your window,
the look of wonder when you discovered color.

If you open us once more,
we’ll not look for heaven —
we’ll look for truth.

We can still see good things.
They haven’t disappeared; they’ve just gone out of focus.
Help us find them again.




LIPS

We kissed pain and called it passion.
We said “yes” because “no” felt lonely.
We lied to make others comfortable,
and died in every silence that followed.

We mocked our own prayers,
swallowed words that could have saved us.
Forgive us —

but give us one last sentence to speak right:
“I deserve to live.”

We once laughed freely, remember?
When the world was small but safe,
when even nonsense tasted like music.
Let us speak that way again.

Let us tell jokes again.
Let us say “I love you” to the mirror
without choking on doubt.

We can speak healing if you let us.




LEGS

We wandered into rooms that emptied us.
We ran after those who never looked back.
We stood too long in places that hurt.
We kneeled for validation,
and trembled under shame.

But we also remember running through fields,
scraping knees and rising again,
chasing dreams we didn’t yet know were fragile.

Yet, even broken, we can still move.
Don’t bury us beneath guilt.

We can still walk you out of this darkness —
one stubborn step at a time.

We have carried your victories before.
Let us carry you once more — this time,
toward peace, not pain.




BRAIN

I am the worst of them all.
I built cages from memories
and called them logic.
I made you doubt yourself,
fed your nightmares,
turned healing into guilt.

But I remember when curiosity
was your superpower —
when you asked why the stars twinkled,
why ants never got tired,
why life was a puzzle you loved solving.

Now I fill that same mind with fear.
I have sinned against you with thoughts too heavy to lift.

But I swear — I can learn peace.
I can be gentle again.
I can dream again.

Let me rewrite the story —
this time without blood in the ink.

Let me tell a version where you survive.



EARS

We heard what we wanted,
ignored what we needed.

We swallowed sweet poison,
believed flattery over truth.

We tuned in to chaos
and called it company.

We let the noise drown your own voice,
the one that once sang to birds
and whispered secrets to the wind.

We remember when you first heard laughter —
your mother’s, your friend’s, your own —
and how sound itself felt like a warm embrace.

Let us listen again.
We’ll search for the sound of your own voice —
the one that never lied.

We promise to hear not the screams of the world,
but the quiet hum of hope
that still trembles beneath your ribs.




SKIN

We’ve carried fingerprints like curses,
scars like certificates of pain.

We remember every touch —
even the ones we begged to forget.

We’ve been branded, bruised,
called dirty for surviving.

But we also remember sunlight —
the first warmth you ever knew,
the joy of rain sliding down your arms,
the tickle of wind against your face.

Don’t peel us away.
Don’t hide us in long sleeves and shame.

Let us heal.
We can still shiver from laughter,
still bloom from kindness.

We can still feel sunlight —
and that, too, is holy.




SOUL

They think I left — but I never did.
I’ve just been hiding beneath the ruins,
waiting for you to look inward again.

I am the quiet that refuses to die.
I am the ache that still hopes.

You’ve buried me under heartbreak,
but I have roots deeper than grief.
You’ve tried to silence me,
but even silence echoes if it believes.

Remember when you dreamed without reason?
When you wanted to fly, to sing, to be endless?
That was me — still whispering,
still believing that you are more than your wounds.

Don’t trade eternity for a single wound.
You are not your mistakes.
You are the universe trying again.

We can rise again,
not perfect — but alive.



THE BODY SPEAKS AS ONE

We are the evidence of every battle survived.
We’ve cracked, burned, starved, screamed —
but we’re still here.

Don’t end us for the sins of others.

We remember when life was simple —
when the floor was your playground,
when falling was just another way to learn balance,
when pain healed in hours, not years.

We’ve watched you grow, love, fail, and rise.
We’ve seen the nights you cried yourself empty,
and the mornings you still got up anyway.

That — is strength.

We failed you, yes.
But failing is part of it.
Even broken instruments can still make music.

So before you give up,
let us remind you of everything you’ve survived —
and everyone you still are.

Let us carry you again —
not away from pain,
but through it.

We can’t promise tomorrow will be gentle,
but we can promise —
you won’t face it alone.

Because we — your body, your memories, your breath, your soul —
are still here.

Still waiting.
Still believing.
Still alive.

We all need to hear this.

Sometimes, we just need to say sorry to ourselves.

WriterX:
We all need to hear this.

Sometimes, we just need to say sorry to ourselves.

Yes, we do... This is quite profound. Lots of takeaways:

> If you open us once more, we'll not look for heaven. We'll look for truth.
> We mocked our own prayers (really hit hard)
>We built altars for those who never prayed for us.
> Let us say "I love you" to the mirror without choking on doubt

There's too many of them for me to write out.

I have a question though;

"but even broken hearts still keep time" Isn't that for clocks?

Oh, and would you consider shorter poems? For attention retention.

Cheers, man. You did good.