This poem is for my daughter. It is from the perspective of the one who fights, the one who endures, and the one who is reclaiming herself, one day at a time.
I, the Survivor
I know your whisper, know your name, The loaded promise, the rigged game. I know the solace that you sell, A private heaven, a public hell. You were the fire in my throat, The captain of my sinking boat.
But the world you painted grey and bleak Is shouting color on my cheek. A cup of coffee, clean and hot, A simple joy I had forgot. The morning sun, a steady friend, A quiet and a hopeful trend.
You are the cracks etched in the bowl That tried to shatter my whole soul. But I am the lacquer and the gold That makes the story to be told A thing of beauty and of grace, I see it now upon my face.
This is a choice I make each dawn: The path I will or won’t walk on. It is a quiet, daily war, To not unlock my own cage door. It is the strength to say, “not now,” A small and yet a sacred vow.
My power is not a fortress wall; It is the courage just to call A friend and say, “I’m not okay.” It is the grace to want to stay And feel the feeling, sharp and true, Without the hazy veil of you.
So listen now, you fading guest, And put your hollow words to rest. You are the ghost, the fading lie, Beneath a clear and open sky. And I, the one who meets my gaze, Am the one who numbers all my days, And lives them now. The one who’s free. The one who is, and will be, Me.
Pam Beach ‘Beyond the Blog’
If you felt, this poem, if it resonated with you, feel free to caffeinate the creator. https://beyondtheblog.org/power-the-next-post/
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