Cold World, No Manual

Cold World, No Manual

I’m just a Black girl in a cold, cold world,

At eighteen, they tell me, “You’re grown now, girl.”

“The world is yours,” they say with pride,

But they don’t know the storm I hold inside.

At nine years old, my childhood was torn,

A fragile heart, battered and worn.

They stole my light, left me hollow and lost,

And no one warned me of the cost.

Life didn’t come with a guide in hand,

No book of rules, no promised land.

Each step feels heavy, the nights grow long,

But I still hum my own survival song.

They say, “Be strong,” but don’t see the weight,

Of carrying pain too young, too great.

Lost in a world that’s cruel and unfair,

Where silence meets a young girl’s despair.

But I’m here, standing, though the wind cuts deep,

Carrying truths the world chose to keep.

A Black girl, growing, through pain I climb,

A phoenix rising, I’m taking my time.

The cold may bite, the darkness may call,

But I’ll find my way, I’ll rise from it all.

This thing called life didn’t come with a plan,

But I’ll rewrite my story, with my own hand.