You carried wounds you never asked for,
shadows that were never yours to hold.
Yet, when it was your turn,
you chose to fight instead of fold.
No one showed you how to heal,
yet you learned,
through trial, through error,
through nights you thought you’d break.
Still, you rose.
The weight of silence pressed against your throat,
but you spoke.
The echoes of pain rang in your bones,
but you stood.
The past reached for you,
but you did not let it pull you under.
No one breaks a cycle without bleeding,
without doubt, without scars.
But you did it.
Maybe not perfectly—
but perfectly enough.
One day, they will look back
and see the path you carved
through the darkness,
through the ache.
They will know—
you gave them something you never had.
And that is enough.
You are enough.
BB Grey--musings 
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