The Weight of Shadows

A Garden of Thorns

In a world where laughter dripped like morning dew, 
She as born with stars stitched to her seams, 
Yet shadows danced in twisted playgrounds, 
Where taunts flew like arrows, sharp with fears. 

Once a child of dreams, now a vessel of pain, 
Her voice echoed in the hollow of silence, 
Each bruise a story, each tear a weight, 
Love was a distant shore, a cruel mirage. 

Through the haze of night, she fought her reflection, 
With hands wrapped in ink, she wove her escape— 
Pages filled with the colors of her heart, 
Each stroke a reminder that she still could breathe. 

Hollow halls her home, where warmth turned to stone, 
A father's cold gaze and a mother's harsh whip, 
A marriage sewn with threads of fraying hope, 
Became chains of despair, tightening with time. 

Her son, the mirror of her hopes and fears, 
Yet burdened by shadows that darkened their skies, 
She walks in the quiet, her heart filled with dreams, 
Longing for solace in a well-worn night. 

"Why me?" she whispers to the moon's silver glow, 
As echoes of laughter slip through her grasp, 
But deep in her veins burns a flicker of fire, 
A spirit unbroken, a heart full of fight. 

She bends under weight yet refuses to break, 
For in the cracks lay the roots of new blooms; 
Just as spring follows winter—each bruise feeds the light, 
And beauty is born from the soil of her wounds. 

So let her rise, like the sun from the dark, 
A phoenix reborn with a fierce, blazing spark, 
For though she was forged in the bitterest strife, 
She carries the whispers of hope in her life. 

And on those long nights when the shadows draw near, 
She whispers to dreams, to the strength held so dear, 
"I am more than the darkness that dared to confine, 
I am the ink that flows, I will rise, I will shine."