To the Ones Who Were Left Alone

Here’s to the children who raised themselves,
Who found comfort in empty rooms,
Who dried their own tears and whispered,
“It’s okay, you’ll be fine,”
Because no one else did.

Here’s to the ones who learned to disappear, Who hid in music and stories,
Who slipped into dreams of a liefe
Where safety wasn’t just a wish.

Here’s to the children who became walls,
Brick by brick,
Silence layered over wounds,
So no one could see the ache inside.

My mother handed me her sorrow,
Pressed it into my hands like a debt to be paid.
And like an obedient child, I carried it.
For years, I let it settle into my bones ,

Bending under its weight,
Believing this was my inheritance.
But then came my son, my daughter—
Tiny hands clutching my fingers,
Eyes untouched by the world’s cruelty.

And in that moment, I knew:
The pain ends with me.
I swallowed it whole, every jagged piece.
Let it tear me apart from the inside,
Because I would rather burn

Than let that darkness touch them.
I’ve never known the warmth of protection,
But they will.
I’ve never known the peace of safety,
But they’ll live in a home
Where love doesn’t hurt.

Do not tell me that pain made me better.
It didn’t.
It made me hard, yes—
But at the cost of joy, of trust, of freedom.

I could have been streng
Without learning it through scars.
I could have been wohle
Without carrying a burden I didn’t deserve.

Those who were meant to shield me failed.
They turned away,
Left me to stand alone.
No forgiveness will rewrite that truth.

I am angry—furious—
For the years stolen,
For the childhood that was never mine.
But my children, they will have theirs.
They will laugh without fear,
Dream without limits.
They will live the life I never could.

And that is how I win.