I have been hurt,  
each scar a silent witness,  
a map of battles fought in shadows.  
Traumatized by whispers and shouts,  
abused by hands that should have held me close,  
used as a pawn in games I never chose to play.

In the quiet corners of my heart,  
the echoes of loss linger.  
My granny’s laughter is now a distant song,  
her wisdom etched into my bones.  
She was the anchor in my stormy seas,  
and without her, the waves seem higher.

But here I stand, trembling yet resolute.  
Some days it feels easier to give up,  
to let the weight crush me like fallen leaves.  
Yet deep within this turmoil lies a flicker,  
a stubborn spark that refuses to fade.

I dream of an easier life,  
where judgment isn’t cast like stones,  
where my worth is not measured by skin or circumstance.  
But there’s a fire in this struggle
there’s strength woven through each trial.

So let them misread me.  
Let them see only what they wish.  
They don’t know the depths of my spirit,  
the resilience buried beneath layers of hurt.

I am somebody a tempest with roots anchored deep.  
I will rise from these ashes time and again,  
for every mistake is but a stepping stone.  
Not perfect, just fiercely human,  
with dreams stretched toward the horizon’s glow.

And so I promise
I won’t give up on this journey.  
I'll carve paths through this unforgiving terrain,  
because every heartbeat reminds me  
there's beauty in becoming,  
there's power in persistence,  
and every breath taken is an act of defiance.

I will reach for tomorrow,  
not just for myself but for those who believe  
in brighter tomorrows,  
who lift their heads high against winds that howl.  
Together we’ll break free from these chains  
and dance under open skies once more,  
alive with possibility and hope,  
as we learn to embrace our stories anew