Poem: A Quiet Reclaiming

I walked through fire in my own skin,
A war beneath, a war within.
Each promise broke like fragile glass,
Each day a ghost I couldn’t pass.

The bottle, the flame, the whispered lie—
They told me live, then watched me die.
But pain, it speaks a holy tongue:
It says, You’re broken, but not done.

I’ve crawled through nights with shaking hands,
And begged for strength I’d never planned.
But inch by inch, breath after breath,
I chose the fight instead of death.

Healing came like morning light—
Not sudden, but with gentle might.
A voice inside began to rise:
“You are still here. You are still wise.”

I stitched my soul with thread of grace,
Faced the mirror, met my face.
And though the past still sometimes calls,
I’ve built new doors from shattered walls.

This path is raw, this path is real,
But step by step, I learn to feel.
Not high, not numb—just fully me—
Alive, unchained, and breaking free.