Unapologetic

She reached for warmth in brittle air,  A touch, a breath, no solace there,  Just echoes threading through her spine,  The frost of silence misaligned. Her nerves, those weary phantom strings,  Forgotten songs the cold still sings.  She clung to light that wouldn’t stay,  A ghost of dawn, a night’s decay. I see her pain in shadows cast,  A love too slow, a wound too fast.  Yet through the numb, I feel her fight,  A soul still trembling toward the light. For every tear that fell unseen,  A ribbon tied to might-have-been.  And though the thaw may take its time,  Her name will pulse in every rhyme

I wore my butterfly Sunday dress, All lace and sky-blue seams; I thought it meant I’m harmless, He thought it birthed his dreams. Uncle said my smile was sin, That wings invite the night; He locked the door and leaned right in— “Keep quiet and don’t fight” He snarled that no one’d trust my cries, And that I “led him on” that day; “You begged with flutter-patterned thighs— Now hush and look away.” I scrubbed his breath out of my skin, The sink ran rust-red streams; First blood came far too soon within, And shattered my childhood dreams. My best mate waved; I dodged his touch, No hand could feel quite safe; If he could twist a dress so much, Then any smile was chafe. At night I hugged the ceiling’s dark, And prayed the dawn would stall; Silence gnawed a growing mark No one to hear at all. When weight of secrets bent my spine And sleep refused to stay, I wrote: “The blame was never mine— I’m giving guilt away.” “I’m sorry wings were on my hem, I’...

I pressed the button years ago, It flickered once, then sank below. The doors stayed shut, the light went red, A metaphor, they might have said. Each day I wait in silent halls, Between the cracks of crumbling walls. While others ride from floor to floor, I pace the dust, I watch the door. I dress in hope, I stand up straight, Pretending patience alters fate. But time just smirks with every tick, A cruel, relentless metronome click. I see reflections, faint and warped, Of dreams I built, then life extorted. They fade like steam on window panes. My whispered prayers, my phantom pains. Some say, “Just take the stairs instead,” But mine are missing, cracked, or dead. A spiral down, a lurching bend, Each step I climb just loops again. I’ve shouted, screamed, and banged the steel, Tried trading wounds for something real. But silence echoes back my name, A ghostly curse, a hollow claim. Still here I stand, a soul confined, Trapped on the floor the wo...

Slut . They spit it like a brand, not a name, Like her body’s the torch and she’s to blame. As if she asked to be torn apart By hands that crushed a child’s heart. Tramp . They laugh at the way she walks at night, But not at the man who stole her light. The closet door, the shattered trust. All covered now in layers of dust. Whore . She trades her skin like it’s all she owns, But no one sees her breaking bones. She learned too young that “no” means less When love is warped into a dress. She paints her lips, she plays her part, But there's a grave inside her heart. And every kiss, and every bed, Is just another scream she never said. Behind the heels and smoky eyes, Is a child who watched her spirit die. You curse her name, but never knew The war she fought just passing through. You called her easy, loose, and cheap, While she curled into herself to sleep. Her prayers were raw, her hope was thin You judged the shell, not what's within. Say her name with something t...

I wasn’t born a monster. I was born a boy. Before the shadow. Before the noise. My mother screamed like sirens when my father drank his rage. I learned to flinch before I spoke to bottle fire inside a cage. Touch was something violent, or cold like metal floors. No one kissed with tenderness,  they locked and slammed their doors. I learned that love meant power. That silence was control. That pain could be inherited like cancer in the soul. No one asked if I was breaking. They only saw the shell. And boys don't cry in battlegrounds we're told to "man up" well. I stitched my wounds with conquest. I fed on fear like bread. And somewhere, hurt became desire. And somewhere, need turned red. I saw her as an answer not a person, or a voice. Because I was never given truth, just the illusion of a choice. I crossed a line. I knew I did. The silence afterwards screamed. But part of me still whispered: "This is how control redeems." I wanted to feel powerf...

Resonance After Rupture   In the silent fracture, where the soul’s string snaps a discordant echo lingers, shards of sound, shattered light. Waves crash, collide, unravel, the harmony lost in chaos, a fractured pulse, a broken song seeking its note. Beneath its crackle, a faint hum stirs,  a thread of vibration weaving through the dissonant Nothingness.  Resonance returns in whispers, soft yet unyielding, pulling broken pieces into a harmonic melody. The rupture, once a void, now pulses with new life a convergence of scattered waves, rising, merging, healing. In this symphony of scars, the soul reclaims its voice, singing in frequencies no fracture can silence.