I stand on shards of what was mine,
Each step a sting, a fractured line.
The past still echoes in my bones,
In whispered lies and hollow tones.
It hurts to breathe, to rise each day,
When trust is torn and cast away.
But I won’t let this break me down,
I’ve worn too long the victim’s crown.
Each step a sting, a fractured line.
The past still echoes in my bones,
In whispered lies and hollow tones.
It hurts to breathe, to rise each day,
When trust is torn and cast away.
But I won’t let this break me down,
I’ve worn too long the victim’s crown.
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It tempts me not to even stand.
But deeper still, beneath the ache,
A voice insists I will not break.
I’ve cried in rooms where no one came,
Burned through the silence, faced the shame.
Yet here I am—still not undone,
Still turning scars toward the sun.
From threads of light I use to cope.
Not waiting for a saving grace,
But building one in my own place.
New breath must fill the hurt within.
It may be slow, it may be small,
But forward still, I will not fall.
I choose the path of nothing less
Than rising, raw and undefined,
And carving new ways to survive.