Beneath the swing set’s creak,
joy whispered like a ghost,
while clouds of heaviness
settled like stones on my chest.
My voice evaporated,
with every swing and sway,
as I reached for something solid,
my truth slipping, fading with the wind.
If healing could mend the cracks in time,
my voice would rise,
steadily growing, not dissolving,
but evolving,
finding strength with the shifting air.
Yet silence wraps...
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