Night folds tight on the room I feared, Walls hum low with the breath I steered; A shadow leans where the doorway bends, Holding truths no daylight mends. I trace the echoes on my skin, Fragile maps of where I’d been, And every tremor I couldn’t flee Still shakes the ground inside of me. If I vanish where the dark held sway, Carry my hope through the fractured day; I was more than the silence kept, More than the tears the night intercepts. Let the wind rewrite my plea— A spark those hands could never see; I rise from the ache they left in me, From the hands that took me. Footsteps bloom in the hollow air, Each one sharp as a whispered stare; I learned to breathe in a narrow frame, Hiding warmth from the weight of blame. But memory stirs like a restless tide, Pulling strength I thought had died, And every flicker of distant light Restores the voice I lost that night. If I wander through the shadows’ bind, Let the dawn recall I was mine; Through the hush that shaped my fear, I held a glow that stayed sincere. Hear my pulse reclaim its sound— A vow the dark could not decree; I speak from the quiet scars beneath The hands that took me. I learned that pain can bloom to flame, Carving truth from the weight of shame; The past can’t cage what my heart regrew, Nor mute the courage I fought through. Somewhere the sky returns my breath— In the light I fought to see. If the world calls out my hidden spark, I’ll answer through the unraveling dark; I’m more than the hush they tried to claim, More than the echo of that unnamed pain. Every tremor in the waking air Writes strength in who I came to be— I rise, alive, unbroken from The hands that took me.
