I Was Never Meant to Survive This Beautiful

They said I could be traded..

a favor for a favor,

a girl with bloodline value,

eyes down, voice clipped,

something to be 

shared.

A whispered transaction

between men

who carried my father's name,

his language,

his silence.

I was never asked.

Just offered.

Like land,

like livestock,

like proof of loyalty.

And I became small...

not out of choice,

but out of necessity.

A timid child who stopped asking 

what safety felt like.

Hope dissolved like sugar in how shame.

But I found my breath again

in soil.

I laid my back

on moss covered roots

and let the trees mother me.

Let the wind write lullabies

no man could twist into threats.

I trusted nothing

but the feral steadiness

of birdsong and storms.

I grew

in shadows.

I learned to be still

not out of fear, 

but to listen

for the next betrayal.

There are things I waited years to name...

unspeakable truths

buried under polite conversation

and the kind of shame

that tightens around the throat

like a father's belt

or a community's hush.

I screamed once.

Quietly.

Into a towel.

Into the dirt.

Into whatever would take it

without calling me ungrateful

for surviving.

Because I did survive.

And I know

there are others 

who didn't.

I know

I could have been

scattered bones in an alley,

unmarked,

unclaimed,

a ghost no one would name.

But I am not bones.

I am breath.

I am marrow that decided

to keep growing

even after the body broke.

I am

what shouldn't have walked again.

What shouldn't have spoken again.

What shouldn't have smiled, 

or trusted,

or loved nature so much

it became a prayer of healing 

no man could take from me.

I am still ashamed sometimes.

Still burning.

Still haunted.

But I carry it.

All of it.

Because I am not just my darkness.

I am the woman

who looked at it and said:

"You don't get the last word."

And now?

I write the words.

I am the words.

I walk in what they tried to bury me in.

I live in what was meant to silence me.

And yes...

I am made of sorrow,

but I am also made of sun.

I am my ache.

I am my light.

And no one gets to choose

which side you get.

That part belongs 

to me.