I didn’t ask for this body. You stitched me up like a bad idea you didn’t have the guts to carry. ...I remember your cold trembling hands— Not even sure the lightning had worked but i began to see. You left me naked in the wind, the trash was learning how to breathe. And I followed your footsteps, each one deeper than the heat. Was I meant to love you? Or to haunt you? I don’t know if I am, but I know silence. Your name became the only prayer I could not stop repeating. I was made of your absence, taught to hunger by the way you looked away. but i know silence. You wanted a mirror, and when you dropped it you called it monster. My three eyes see through you now. You built me with your cowardice then feared the mess. Guess what— the mess grew legs. To walk through frost and keep my fire. and I know silence. I carved purpose from your regret. I am not the sum of our shame. I was never our failure. I was the failure to resolve. I am your echo— evolved. and i know silence. I carry every wound like a star chart, each scar a constellation you never saw. And still, I rise —not to ruin— but to witness. We made this all from our parts, but I name it myself. now silent.
