For those of you who know what it's like to go through something that should've never happened

Certain sentences in this poem may be triggering! Read with caution! Read note to know which sentences are triggering!

This is for those of you who know what it's like to go through something that should've never happened.

For those of you who know
what it’s like to walk
in shadows of a stolen light,
to feel the weight of unasked questions,
to wear the scars as cloaks,
heavy, yet invisible
to the untrained eye.

You recall the nights

when the moon turned away,
when tears were the only language,
each drop a story,
each shiver a confession,
that echoes in the brittle air,
asking why the world
could not see the bruises
that buried deeper than flesh.

the mirror reflecting a battleground,

where love should have bloomed,
now lies the weight of grief,
a rope frayed and tangled,
pulling tight with every breath,
reminding you of what it means
to carry scars not of choice
but of necessity.

A silent scream caught
in the throat, a phantom pain
that lingers, a ghost of a hand
where it shouldn't have been.

Skin remembers,
a landscape of old wounds,
invisible to the casual eye,
but etched deep in the soul.

The mirror, a battlefield,
reflecting a stranger,
a body that feels foreign,
a vessel violated.

Words, weapons disguised
as affection, chipping away
at the foundation, leaving
a hollow shell.

Fingertips tracing scars,
a desperate attempt to reclaim,
to understand, to heal,
to find the self buried beneath.

The urge to disappear,
to erase the memory,
to silence the echo,
a siren song in the night.

But there, a flicker,
a tiny spark of defiance,
a refusal to be defined
by the darkness.

A reaching hand,
a whispered truth,
a community of survivors,
a chorus of resilience.

Slowly, painstakingly,
rebuilding brick by brick,
reclaiming agency,
rewriting the narrative.

Finding strength in vulnerability,
embracing imperfections,
forgiving the unforgivable,
starting anew.

The body, a temple,
deserving of love,
deserving of respect,
deserving of peace.

The voice, once silenced,
now rising, a roar,
a testament to survival,
a beacon of hope.

A warrior spirit,
forged in the fires of pain,
emerging stronger,
a testament to the human spirit.

Healing is not linear,
there will be setbacks,
there will be tears,
but there will also be light.

For those who know,
you are not alone,
you are seen,
you are believed.

Your story matters,
your journey is valid,
your strength is undeniable,
you are a survivor.

For those of you who know,
we have walked through the fire
and emerged not just as a survivor
but as a warrior,
igniting kindness in the darkest places,
finding joy in gentle moments,
and learning that our hearts,
though they have been bruised,
still beats with a rhythm of resilience.

Let us weave this journey together,
for the pain does not define us,
it sharpens our existence,
reminds us to embrace the light,
to cradle our scars as badges,
to dance in defiance,
to sing the songs of our survival,
and know that from the ashes,
we can rise,
not broken,
but beautifully whole.

Author's Note

Trigger Warning, Scars, mentions bruises
"a rope frayed and tangled,
pulling tight with every breath" And "A silent scream caught
in the throat, a phantom pain
that lingers, a ghost of a hand
where it shouldn't have been. " May be triggering sentences!