I am more than shadows cast against your walls, More than whispers echoing through empty halls. You see my scars like chapters of defeat, But they\'re just footprints on my victory\'s street. In your world of perfect shapes and measured lines, I am the curve that never quite aligns. You turn away as if my truth might stain the pristine picture you struggle to maintain. Yes, I bleed when arrows find their mark. Yes, I weep when daylight turns to dark. But tell me why my heart should count for less When it beats the same beneath this mess? Once I held galaxies within my hands, Now I catch dust like falling hourglass sands. You take and take until the well runs dry, Then wonder why there\'s darkness in my sky. But listen close—beneath this shroud of night, There burns a flame you cannot dim or blight. I am not your mirror, nor your shame to bear. I am the storm, the lightning in the air. So let me stand undefined and free, In all the glory of simply being me. For in this skin—scarred, broken, real—I find the truth that time cannot steal: I am enough. I am complete. I am me.