Silence Doesn't Mean Safe
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Concluida jue, jun 12, 202536m
At just 14, I wasn't a child-I was a protector, a second mother, a survivor.
Told through raw emotion, powerful poetry, and unfiltered truth, this is my story of growing up in chaos: bouncing between unstable homes, carrying the weight of my siblings, and silently enduring the darkness no one saw. I was taught to keep quiet-but silence didn't mean I was safe.
From broken trust and heartbreak, to spiritual awakening and survival, this is the beginning of my becoming.
This is what it looks like to fight for light-when you've only ever known shadows.
💔 Based on a true story
⚠️ Trigger warnings: abuse, generational trauma, grief, spiritual warfare
✨ Follow for Book 2: The Becoming - because leaving doesn't always mean freedom.
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Always Down
My body was pressed against his hard slack and colliding underneath the agonizing tension, he lowered his mouth to mine and his tongue darted to run across my bottom lip. My core throbbed under his touch and my thighs clenched hard when he thrusted his hard on against my body. He then leaned to kiss me, long and angered, forcing for the tears beneath my closed lids to burn like acid. His teeth nicked my bottom lip and a cry of pain pushed through my throat. My nails clawed his forearms in retaliation but that never stopped his assault on my lips. He showed me how fucking vulnerable my body was beneath him and his words from the other night pricked my conscience. I assembled my guts and pushed his body back. I tried to step past him but he held my upper arm and pulled me back against the ropes. "Let go of me, Hades." My voice wavered. He stared down at me for a brief moment before releasing his hold and backed away. "Gladly." Hades D'amiano- vain, narcissistic and a lethal weapon. Mia Faye- seductive, assertive and a fatale lie. Secrets, love and betrayal to unfoldConcluida
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The Yellow
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These are truths I was never taught to speak. Here lie the words I swallowed, the pain I buried, and the questions they told me not to ask. For the unheard. For the unseen. For the ones who feel too much in a world that tells them to feel less. I write for you. I write for me.Concluida
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Disclaimer This story is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, events, places, or incidents are purely products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or real-life events is purely coincidental. The story contains themes of family abandonment, emotional trauma, jealousy, and personal growth, which may not be suitable for all readers. Reader discretion is advised. This story is written in Taglish (Tagalog-English) and is intended for entertainment and inspiration only. All rights reserved. No part of this story may be copied, reposted, or reproduced without the author's permission. Author: Brixton SeraphinConcluida
At just 13
To the countless women who have survived the invisible cages of domestic abuse, the silent screams echoing in empty rooms, the suffocating sweetness of manipulative love turning to bitter ash. This is for those who have found the strength to break free, to rebuild their lives from the shattered fragments of their past. This is for the daughters and sons who witnessed the darkness, yet found the courage to nurture the seeds of hope in their mothers' hearts. This is for the ones who, felt the insidious creep of control, the slow erosion of self, the chilling isolation that whispers of despair. This is for the women who, against all odds, found the unwavering strength to pick up the pieces, to reclaim their voices, their identities, their futures. This is for the women who dared to escape, to heal, to thrive. To the anchors of my resilience, the embodiment of my enduring hope, and to every woman who has fought for her own freedom, this book is a testament to your immeasurable courage, your unwavering spirit, and your unyielding strength. May it serve as a beacon of light in the darkest of nights, a reminder that even in the deepest shadows, the flame of hope continues to burn. May it inspire you to keep fighting, keep believing, keep rising. Because you are stronger than you know, braver than you imagine, and infinitely more resilient than you ever believed possible. This is for you, for your unyielding spirit and for the future you are forging. May this story be a small contribution to a much-needed conversation, a whisper of solidarity in the face of overwhelming silence, a reminder that you are not alone and that healing is possible. Your fight, your survival, your triumph, inspires me every single day. This book is my tribute to your unwavering strength. This is for you.Concluida
📚shiddat:-ishq aur nafrat ki
my heart raced with every step he took towards me,i clutched my dress and tried not to make any sound or i will face the consequences. tears left my eyes,i was stucked with him,i hated everyone for doing this to me. "you still have time come out sweetheart."more tears left my eyes as i covered my mouth with my hand. sobs were ready to left but i forced myself to be strong. suddenly a hand clutched my hair and dragged me out from my hiding spot. I knew who it was and was ready. "tsk tsk tsk,i said you,if i will find you then you have to face double consequences but you being stubborn disobeyed me."a sob ripped through me at the thought of the punishment i will receive. #violence #abusive content. . this is pure imagination. This story doesn't support or normalize anything take it as a fiction and don't spam any hate i won't tolerate anything towards my storyline or anything related to the story. if you don't like second chances or story like this,then skip it don't read it.Concluida
I was kicked around like trash on the streets. I was the book that nobody could understand or read, but without a care, they were quick to rip out the pages. I screamed for attention, but time after time, I was ignored. Nobody noticed me, so I made myself at home in my own shadow. They say there's light at the end of the tunnel -- I searched and searched for it, but it could never be found. Therefore, I lost hope as I hid in the shade and endured what seemed like everlasting pain. The little hope I did have was snatched from my arms. My baby brother was my life, and they took my glimpse of hope away. Home. Is that a word? Maybe for a family of some kind, but for me, I never had a place to call home. I moved from place to place. Unstable foster care, fighting for my life in group homes, barely surviving in detention centers, and running away from being mistreated as I made many benches my temporary home. The only thing that I was familiar with was a black plastic bag containing my dirty rags. I am too young to know what it feels like to survive. These are the cards life has dealt me and I am not meant to win; however, I easily lose without trying. It is hard for me to find peace. I am paying for my mother's reckless actions. I am trapped in a world where the sun has died because I am unable to feel love. I am unable to dream. Sorrow is my aura, and the sadness hugs me. My eyes are closed shut by the barbed wire fence from my eyelashes as they prohibit tears from falling. I am damaged. When will the morning come? Did the sun put up a fight last night, like I do every single day? If I can survive the day, I know the sun isn't dead. One day, I will awake to a glorious sunrise. Until then, I hope my brother keeps blowing his pinwheel, and I will keep making wishes with every dandelion I come across. For now, all I know is that everything was taken from me, and the only thing I own is my name.
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