Blue eyes wide in a war-torn face,
blonde hair tied in practiced grace.
A child of ghosts and broken rules,
raised in silence, bruised by fools.
Her mother, cold—too far to reach.
Her father, gone—a wound, not speech.
And he, the one who wore the mask,
who took what no one dared to ask.
He came at night, when no one cared,
and left her soul stripped down and bared.
No screams, just breath she wouldn’t waste—
she learned to vanish, learned to brace.
She wrapped her waist in binding tape,
starved the hunger, craved escape.
"Too much," they said—so she became
less of a body, more of shame.
At night she drew in blood-red lines,
a language shaped in silent signs.
The scale her altar, pain her prayer—
just thin enough, they might still care.
But even small, they looked right through.
What love she craved, she never knew.
Still, in her eyes, a stubborn flame—
not gone, not lost, just not the same.
-
Author:
Mikaylakcoates (
Offline) - Published: July 3rd, 2025 18:24
- Comment from author about the poem: This poem displays many factors of my life growing up, in very few words. To be able to express this in such an artistic way heals me, every poem has its place in my journey back to shining, and i hope reading it may help you back to yours.
- Category: family
- Views: 5
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, erendis, Poetic Licence
Offline)
Comments3
Hard to read, raw and dark. A sad read but masterfully crafted, true poetry and a fave
thank you. ive been working on it for ages trying to find a place to publish.
I love how you took something traumatic and made something beautiful out of it. Very well done!
Thank you. 🙂
A heartfelt, raw and honest write, beautifully written and its good to hear you made it, nicely expressed and written
Thank you. during my time wring it ( it took forever) it definetly pulled some heartstrings, and opened some not quite closed wounds.
Have been there, not all wounds will close,we just learn over Time to keep changing the plaster
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