𝐏𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒

ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ :

ₓ ꜱᴇʟꜰ-ʜᴀᴛʀᴇᴅ

ₓ ᴅᴇᴘʀᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ

ₓ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ ᴀʙᴜꜱᴇ (ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ &

ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴄᴀʟ, ᴍᴇᴛᴀᴘʜᴏʀɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ

ᴘᴏʀᴛʀᴀʏᴇᴅ)

ₓ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴛʀᴀᴜᴍᴀ

ₓ ᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜ ꜱᴛʀᴜɢɢʟᴇꜱ

ₓ ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ꜱᴇʟꜰ-ʜᴀʀᴍ

ₓ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴍᴀɴɪᴘᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

ₓ ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅɪꜱꜱᴏᴄɪᴀᴛɪᴏɴ /

ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴍᴀꜱᴋɪɴɢ

•◦இ•◦

𝐏𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃

𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒

𝟘𝟜.𝟘𝟡.𝟚𝟝

in a house made of paper and

whispers and wind, a girl was born

beneath a leaking sky, where the rain

knew her name before she had one,

and the thunder learned to mimic her

father's voice.

her cradle was a matchbox, small

and flammable, rocked by hands too

heavy with storms and lullabies that

left bruises behind.

she learned to smile with her teeth closed,

so nothing would fall out. not secrets,

not cries, not shards of herself that

kept breaking in quiet corners.

the walls.. those damn walls.

they watched everything, they

folded in on her like fists of silence,

they ed more than they should.

but she.. she became a garden

in a graveyard, a bloom where nothing

should have grown. she stitched

sunlight into her shadow, planted kindness

like wildflowers in places no one else

dared touch.

her voice was soft, like wind through

mourning trees, and her touch was warm

even though no one had ever shown her

how to hold something without hurting it.

she was the fire kept in a lantern,

glowing through the cracks, never

burning the hands that held her, though

she was made of flame.

to the world, she was laughter wrapped

in lace, the kind of girl who'd bandage

your cuts without mentioning the ones

on her own wrists, hidden beneath bracelets

of silence and sleeve.

they called her strong. they called her

light. they didn’t see how she’d flinch

when someone closed a door too fast,

or how she watched the exits like someone

memorizing escape routes instead of

constellations.

she loved like the tide. constant, selfless,

even when it meant drowning quietly

so someone else could breathe.

they didn’t know that every hug she

gave was a rebellion against the hands

that once taught her fear.

that every laugh was a defiance

against the nights she cried so hard

she forgot her own name.

that every "i’m okay" was a prayer

folded into origami, tucked into the

pockets of her pain, hoping someone

might unfold it, read the truth inside.

no one ever did.

but still..

she wakes each day and

waters the flowers that bloom from

her bruises, and carries the sun in her

chest like a promise she made to the girl

she used to be.

she lives, not because it’s easy,

but because love is a rebellion,

and she has made a home in her heart

for every broken thing she’s ever

touched and refused to abandon.

she is the kind of beautiful

that doesn't ask to be seen,

just felt.

and if you ever meet her,

treat her gently.. for she is made

of all the things that tried to break

her and didn’t.

                    - 𝓼. ꫂ ၴႅၴ

—

!UNFORTUNATELY COULD NOT FIND

ORIGINAL SOURCE IMAGE!

#fecoreview