I unzipped my backpack of silence,
tossed out the shame stitched deep in the seams.
Each memory, each bruise, each whispered lie
I let them scatter like dead leaves in the wind.
No more hiding in locked rooms of myself,
No more shrinking in doorways when rage wore a familiar face.
I am not an echo of his voice,
I am not the cage he built.
I am a crack in the wall,
where the sunlight broke anyway.
I am the sound running not from, but toward something new.
Toward breath, sky and me.
My backpack is empty now, except for courage.
