I know how to carry pain
not like a burden,
but like a second skin.
I've walked through fire in silence,
kissed betrayal on the cheek
and called it by name.

I know bad words.
Not just the ones they speak,
but the ones they plant
in the soil of a soft heart
and leave to grow wild.

I've tasted different traits
bitterness sweetened by charm,
gentleness sharpened to a blade.
I've danced with shadows in daylight
and called it love.

But this one...
this is new.

This ache that lives in my ribs,
this grief that kicks from inside,
this quiet war I fight
while smiling, while feeding,
while staying alive.

Excuse me,
but I’ve never been pregnant
with someone else's cruelty before.
Excuse me
if I need space
to untangle this web
before I decide which thread to cut.

I will lie here,
wrapped in blankets and restraint,
saying “I’m fine”
while every door in this house
begs to be torn from its hinges.

I want to set this silence on fire.
I want to burn this version of me
and walk barefoot through the ash
until I meet the woman
waiting on the other side
the one who chose herself.

I’ve known pain.
But this one is new.
And still
I will survive.
Because I have to.
Because I always do.