Survivor
I still remember the day you stole my innocence away.
The world shifted—
colors drained from golden light to endless shadow.
It started as a simple conversation,
slowly pulling me down to your basement.
I was only 13 years old
when you left me to walk home on shaking legs.
At first, I thought I deserved it—
because fear stole my words before I could speak.
You stole my voice, my innocence, my dignity, leaving me with nothing but fragments of myself.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse,
it did.
Another man used his hands,
leaving me with bruises and broken ribs.
He said it was because "he could."
But my story didn’t end there—
I would never allow it.
I was left with scars, but never silence.
I am a survivor, not a coward.
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