The Skin Remembers

I was not born into softness.

I grew up learning to hide pain in laughter,

to turn "I’m fine" into a survival skill.

No bedtime stories.

Just voices too loud,

and moments too quiet to bear.

Some nights, I’d write my name in notebooks

just to feel real—

like I mattered to someone.

I thought breaking made me weak.

Now I know,

it made me honest.

I carry years that don’t show on my face,

only in how I hold silence like it’s fragile.

💬 “I’m not a question mark anymore—just proof that I stayed.”

Let them guess how I survived.

Let the world wonder.

I’m not here to explain.

I’m here.