They took her light,
left her hollowed,
or so they thought.
Eyes flood as her color fades,
A dungeon of echoes,
where her scream still burns
against the stone.
Mastering the language of silence,
to breathe through the bruises,
to wear her skin like armor
even when she trembled.
Her nights were harsh,
serpents coiling her dreams,
Whispering through,
She is the wreckage of her own making.
But she kept breathing,
a defiance so small
it became divine.
In the graveyard of her own flesh,
She planted something stubborn,
a seed of rage,
a seed of mercy.
To rise from ash and shadow,
forged together by her own hands.
No forgiveness owed,
no purity stolen.
Her body is hers!
Her name is hers!
The darkness that swallowed her,
now kneels when she speaks.
She is you.
Poem About Overcoming A Trauma
Spoken From Ruins
Published by Family Friend Poems April 4, 2026 with permission of the Author.
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