LSAM

Purple sits heavy on my skin
the color of mourning I carry
for those taken too soon
by fathers, mothers, exes, strangers,
even children who turn their rage home.

I feel tormented by men in the streets
one touch and my body freezes
what used to be brave is now fragile
because even the right response
could still be the reason I never make it home.

Purple holds my trauma
the bruises no one sees
the quiet echo of survival.

And yet, purple is my resistance
my courage burning softly inside
a reminder that though the night is dark
I am still here
still breathing
still fighting to live.