The Quiet Refuge

Once, her heart was open, warm, and wide, Now closed and cold, where shadows hide. They judged her laugh, her words, her way, And piece by piece, she slipped away. The checklist of a world so tight, Where she must shrink to fit just right. She tried, she bent, but lost her flame, The girl she was, now not the same. But comfort came in things that feel, Though lifeless, they could help her heal. Her bed, a cradle for her tired frame, It held her softly, without blame. The mirror, kind, it did not sneer, It saw her whole, beyond her fear. It didn’t weigh her by her size, Just truth reflected, no disguise. Her pillow caught the tears she shed, No scorn, no words—just held her head. It never asked her why she wept, It understood, and secrets kept. And music, sweet and softly sung, It healed the wounds that time had stung. Each note, a balm for broken parts, A melody stitched to shattered hearts. So here she lies in quiet grace, A world where judgment has no place. Among the silent friends she’s found, Where peace and love do still abound.