Buried and Blooming

They only see the smile not the war it hides, not the nights I whispered prayers to a sky that never replied. They never saw the floor, how I clung to it like safety, when the weight in my chest felt heavier than my body. I’ve been buried under shame, under silence, under hands that never asked for permission. But I bloomed anyway. I am not fragile. I’m the aftermath of a storm that refused to end me. There is thunder in my pulse and rebellion in my breath. So when I say I survived, know it wasn’t gentle it was ugly, it was loud, but it was mine.