What made me, me, back then?
A laugh that turned heads,
a body alive with energy,
dreams stitched in tomorrow,
innocence stitched with hope.
My family gave enough,
not everything in the world,
but love,
and that was plenty.
I was radiant,
unstoppable,
full of life.
And then—
darkness came.
Ugly people with ugly hands
pulled at the edges of my light.
Lessons, they called them.
But those lessons stole years.
Peace shattered,
curiosity buried,
playfulness lost to survival.
I cried until my soul grew sore,
I carried my hunger for happiness, in ways that never fed me,
and let hate, anger, resentment
cling to my bones
as if they were mine to keep.
I dissociated—
here, but not here.
Alive, but not laughing.
But today—
I feel it in my body.
The body keeps the score,
and my body says:
enough.
My throat aches with truth,
my chest cracks open,
my tears finally know
what they’re crying for.
It was never about them.
It was always about me.
The girl I thought I’d lost—
she was never gone.
She was waiting
behind the dark curtain of years,
holding her laugh, her dreams,
her glow,
until I was ready to come back.
Now I see her.
Thin or not,
whole or not, free or not, happy or not, certain or not
she is me.
Radiant, powerful, unstoppable.
Beautiful because I exist.
Curious because I breathe.
Alive because I choose.
I was never my trauma.
I was never my mistakes.
I was never the darkness.
I am light.
I am laughter.
I am free.
Years may have been stolen,
but not me.
Never me.
I am still here.
And I am not leaving myself again.
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