Unraveling Shame

Unraveling Shame

It came in whispers, soft but cruel,

A shadowed voice, a sharpened tool.

“You are not enough,” it said,

And carved its home inside my head.

A silent ghost, a heavy chain,

A name it gave me—only shame.

Not mine to hold, yet here it stays,

A relic from my younger days.

I shrank, I hid, I tried to bend,

To fit the mold, to just pretend.

But shame was loud, it filled my chest,

A ruthless judge that let me rest.

Yet in the quiet, light crept through,

A voice arose, both kind and true.

“You are not broken, not to blame,

You were just given someone’s shame.”

I spoke the words, I named the pain,

I saw the roots, I broke the chain.

With every step, with every breath,

I stole back life from shame’s cold death.

I met the child, so small, afraid,

I held their hand, I let them stay.

“You are enough,” I told them then,

“And I will never leave again.”

And shame, once mighty, lost its throne,

For love had come to take me home.