It’s okay to hurt.
To wake with silence in your chest,
To feel the weight and call it rest.
Pain is not weakness — it’s proof you feel.
And feeling, love, is how you heal.

You’re not too soft, or far too deep,
Not wrong for crying when you sleep.
This world may try to dim your light—
But your shadows make you burn more bright.

You’ve walked through storms that bent your spine,
And still, you rise, time after time.
That ache you carry in your bones
Has shaped a fire all your own.

Forgiveness isn't letting go
Of truth, or saying “it was so.”
It’s giving yourself what you deserve:
Peace without needing to serve.

Let sadness come — let tears release.
That, too, is part of making peace.
You don’t have to smile to be strong.
You’ve been a warrior all along.

And when the path feels lost, unsure,
Remember: you are shaped, not pure.
Not broken, no — but being made
Of deeper light, and softer blade.

So trust your pace. Reclaim your name.
There’s nothing weak in rising changed.
You are the powerful, the few—
And someone else is watching you.

Let them see how strength can cry.
How grace can stand, and not ask why.
How healing isn’t always loud—
But you, dear girl, are something proud