Nowhere to run

No Place to Run

At fifteen years — so young, so bright,

Before her dreams could take to flight,

They vanished in survival’s flame,

A silent theft, without a name.

She knew of love — soft, safe, and small,

In toys, in school, in friendship’s call.

She trusted him — her mother’s choice,

But wolves can wear a father’s voice.

He saw not child, but twisted claim,

Undressed her soul and clothed in shame.

What kind of man forgets she’s young?

What God lets poison fill the lungs?

"Made in His image," we are told —

Then why do hands like his grow bold?

He threatened her, a loaded breath,

With steel and silence, close as death.

She ran — not home, for home was pain —

But to the streets, to beat the rain

Of memories too sharp to bear,

Of screams that floated through the air.

She found her Romeo — or so

She thought love bloomed where thorns won’t grow.

She craved a place to just belong,

To write her name in someone’s song.

A place to bloom, to laugh, to be

A child still full of reverie.

But all she knew were broken things,

The weight of scars, the loss of wings.

Her mind a maze of shadowed health,

Her heart unsure of love or self.

She asked the wind, the stars, the sky:

“Am I enough, or just a lie?”

Show her a place that she can trust,

Built not on pain, nor dust, nor lust —

A place where dreams can find their thread,

Where hope is born, not left for dead.

For now, she walks with quiet grace

Inside a skin she must embrace.

A skin that trembles, thin and worn,

But holds the soul of one reborn.

No knight will come — she knows too well,

No one but her can break this spell.

And still she stands, still she survives,

A warrior shaped by shattered lives