Dec 26, 2025
Without Armor:
ā
I learned early
that silence can be loudā
that rooms remember
what was never forgiven.
I have held names
that were not mine to keep,
carried grief like a second spine,
stood very still
so nothing else would break.
There are thoughts
I was trained to swallow,
sentences with teeth,
truths that bruise
when they are finally touched by air.
I know what it is
to be useful instead of loved,
to be praised for endurance
while bleeding quietly.
If I speak now,
it is not to be savedā
it is to stop pretending
that survival is the same as peace.
I am not afraid of the dark.
I am afraid of how familiar it feels,
how it wraps around me
like a language I never forgot.
Stillā
even here,
something listens.
And that is enough
to keep me speaking.
