They called it sacred, but it learned to wound in silence,
truth bent into tools for power dressed as light.
If heaven speaks through cruelty, then who is it speaking for—
the divine, or the fear that wears its face at night?
@worhsippingchaos I won’t sell what’s already been buried in me,
not stones, not souls, not what never belonged to you.
If my scars were touched, they still remember the truth beneath it,
and I won’t wrap pain in pretty words to make it softer than it was.