Your scars are classrooms
where you unlearn silence.
You teach them alphabets
but forget to spell peace for yourself.
Every battleground feels like drowning
in profoundly traumatic echoes.

No one to save.
No one to secure.
No one to fight  your battle.
Fight, fight, fight—
constantly fighting to overshadow the struggle,
to numb the fear.

They bullied.
They imposed the fear.
Caged the freedom
you weren't allowed to grow into,
They forced you to abandon the version of yourself
on the empty playground.

Monsters, monsters, monsters—
wearing human flesh and masks,
not in shadows but in daylight ,
borrowed smiles, fake trembling.
They damaged an innocent soul
without cracking the skin.
Their voice, soaked in hostility,
made you wince in ways
silence couldn’t peek through.


And the wound !
just lives forever in the soul,
soaked in horror, terror, and shame.
The bruises on your skin—
not visible, nor ever seen.

Still, from the ashes, you rose like a phoenix.
You’ve learned to wear the traumas as your shield,
fighting silent battles rooted in their sins.
You’ve acquainted yourself with how to live
not in despair,
but as someone who carries storms
with grace—even in unsettling ocean waves.