The little girl that's deep in me
She doesn't know the things I've seen
A little stubborn, mostly passive
But when beaten down, just as savage

She didn't have demons to resist
With that, ignorance must be bliss
In hushed conversations, nothing but a delight
Certainly didn't wish for a better life

Endless story's didn't weigh her down
In therapeutic talks she wouldn't drown
She walked, head held high, confidence shown
Happiness spreading through different tones

Society couldn't pressure her to be normal
Nor getting bullied, looking formal
She smiled through lights and darkened days
But that was before she knew she was gay

Where is the steel wire brush that scapes at the red rust like a doe silently drinking water, or still quieter flowers that sway in the pondering light of another city, with another language covered by the mortar of another, where people built cities too. Who is still up in Glasgow staring at the moon? The river Clyde is below me, and the seagulls dance as if they were drunk

abuse is a shadow that stretches long
a silent echo in the chambers of years
at first, it stings like fire on fresh skin
sharp, unbearable, a scream caught in the throat

then it seeps into bones
a slow ache that wears down the edges of self
confusion tangled with fear,
hope buried beneath layers of silence

the reaction is survival
numbness when feeling is too much
anger when words fail to protect
withdrawal to a place no one can reach

years pass, but the ghost remains
in moments that flicker, unbidden
a look, a tone, a memory
triggering the wounds that never healed

sometimes rage breaks loose
not just at the abuser, but at the world
for seeing, for turning away
for the unbearable weight of bearing alone

and still, beneath it all
there’s a fierce thread of life
a stubborn pulse that refuses to be broken
a whisper of strength growing louder with time

the reaction to abuse is complex
pain, yes, but also power
and the slow reclaiming
of what was stolen in silence

mom hears my truth
and folds like paper
christians quick to point fingers
faster to correct than to come correct

they siphon light
steal the shine from souls who dared to glow
call it jesus
but inside, they’re dead
burning slow
hollow flames licking empty bones

i watched them judge from their cracked thrones
shouting mercy while clutching stones
scared of the fire i carry
the truth that burns brighter than their fear

they say love, but love is a ghost
a shadow in a cage
while they hide behind sermons
wearing chains of quiet shame

mom, you chose silence over my scars
easy to condemn but harder to see
your faith a brittle mask
cracking under the weight of what’s real

and i’m here, raw and unraveled
calling out the gods of hypocrisy
because the brightest light
comes from the ones they try to ***** out

ruled by authoritarians
because you voted
for them I have nothing but hatred
but for you only pity

to cast out a soul already broken
to shut the door on pain and effort
is a wound deeper than any fall
a cruelty that knows no excuse

when the body is weary, the spirit bruised
and every breath is fought for with trembling hands
to be pushed aside is to deny
the very fight that keeps them breathing

they give all they have
a thousand small battles, unseen and unheard
each step forward a mountain climbed
each smile a victory over shadow

there is no justification in turning away
no righteousness in exile when mercy is needed most

to kick out the disabled is to erase their struggle
to silence their courage
to deny the heart that beats fiercely
even when the world grows cold

kindness is not optional
it is the very foundation of our humanity
and those who refuse it
must carry the weight of that choice

for the greatest injustice is not the illness itself
but the abandonment
of those still fighting to be seen