My Murder They Call Survival

Three men. Three shadows with human faces, Hands like chains, Voices coated in liquor and cologne — That same cologne still snakes through my chest, Claws at my lungs every time I smell it. They didn’t need chains — They used hands, words, filth. And God? Stood there. Silent. Watched them rip my clothes, Rip the light from my chest, While I begged the sky for mercy That never came. They rewrote my life. But they didn’t stop there — They rewired my body. Touch? A weapon. A hug? A trap. A kind hand? My skin crawls before my mind catches up. Even when I want peace — Arms that feel safe, Lips that taste like trust — My body recoils, Shivers like it remembers before I do. They made me cold. In love. In hope. In everything. I sabotage softness, Tear down the good Before it gets close enough to bruise me. Love feels fake now. A setup. A mask someone wears Before the real face shows. They taught me every smile hides teeth, Every hand hides control. Even when I ache to believe different — The wires twist tight, I push away, Hold people at arm’s length Like my survival depends on it. And maybe it does. Nights alone — Cold, shaking, Trying to drown it out with pills, powders, bottles, Running from shadows in my skull, Suffocating on memories I can’t scrub clean. Relapses — Burning bridges, burning myself, Setting fire to every good thing Because love feels like a trap, And peace? A lie. People I pushed away — Good people — Because when your life’s rewritten in fear, You can’t tell safe from dangerous, Love from control. They rewrote me — Soft to stone, Trusting to calculating, Wide-open to barricaded behind walls no one gets through. And God? Still gone. Still watching while I fight through the rubble alone. They rewrote my life. They rewired my mind. Reprogrammed my body to flinch at love, To side-eye peace, To prepare for war in every room. But they didn’t get the last word. I might be colder, Harder, Haunted — But I’m still standing. Maybe love feels foreign, Maybe peace feels fake, Maybe my body betrays me — But this body, Scarred, wired, bruised — Rises every day they tried to bury me. I carry the shadows, yes — But I carry the fire too. And no man, no God, No memory gets to finish me off. They buried the girl I was — But they forgot: You can’t kill what's made of rage and survival. I AM STILL HERE. REWRITTEN — yes. REWIRED — absolutely. But this is me. My life. My breath. My story. Is my revenge.