Echoes of a Broken Childhood

I was only eight when the walls learned to whisper

Not lullabies,

But arguments that cracked the silence like thunder.

Plates shattered like promises,

And love was a door slammed shut in the wind.

I carried bedtime stories in my own voice,

Read off the cracks in the ceiling,

Because no one came to tuck me in

Only shadows did.

I learned early that tears

Aren’t always enough to make someone stay.

That silence can bruise deeper

Than fists ever will.

And that “I love you” means nothing

If it’s followed by fear.

But I did not break.

I bent, yes.

Folded like paper under a storm.

But I kept my corners sharp,

My spine uncrushed.

I found fire in my ribs,

A quiet rebellion in my bones.

I taught my heart how to roar

Without making a sound.

I became my own shield

Soft enough to feel,

Strong enough to survive.

I stitched courage into every scar.

Built bridges from broken toys

And hope from hand-me-down dreams.

I was not raised in peace

But I rose anyway.

So hear me now,

All who carry wounds that no one sees

You are more than what hurt you.

More than what you lost.

You are not broken.

You are becoming.