At eleven, life wasn’t as bright,
The dreams I held fell into the night.
Reality hit, a crushing weight,
And I couldn’t stop the change of fate.
Once a child, carefree and bold,
Now I’m lost in stories untold.
The world grew darker, I grew cold,
And with each year, my heart turned old.
My parents, silent in their fight,
Carried burdens hidden from sight.
They didn’t speak of the hurt they knew,
But I could feel it, deep and true.
They thought I didn’t see the strain,
But every tear, every pain,
I felt it too, though I stayed quiet,
Drowning in the silent riot.
Their words, though sharp, cut through my soul,
Made me quieter, made me feel small.
I wanted to speak, to ease their grief,
But I was just a kid, lost in belief.
I felt like I was never enough,
That nothing I did could make it tough,
To see the light they used to know,
Instead of the shadows, dark and low.
I watched them struggle, day by day,
Hoping for a sign to show the way.
But what could I do, just sixteen years old,
When the weight of the world felt so cold?
I wished I could give them something real,
To take away the hurt they feel.
But I’m still learning, still unsure,
Still just a kid with dreams obscure.
The silence I carry, the words unsaid,
Fill the spaces, the thoughts in my head.
I’ve forgotten how to speak, how to feel,
Trapped inside, just waiting to heal.
I lost my voice somewhere along the way,
Fading in the shadows, day by day.
I want to shout, I want to scream,
But I’ve forgotten how to dream.
Still, in the quiet, a flicker remains,
A hope that someday, I’ll break these chains.
And maybe, just maybe, I’ll find my voice,
To speak, to scream, to make a choice.
But for now, I keep moving—
One quiet step at a time,
With a flicker of hope
That someday, I’ll find my rhyme.
~Cloie