Inheritance of Silence

Poetry and prose Volume II

Coming October 23rd

There are books that soothe, and there are books that shatter. Inheritance of Silence is both. It is a collection born of fracture, echo, and bloom—a journey through sorrow, silence, and survival that asks the reader not only to witness, but to feel.

At its core, this anthology is about inheritance—not of wealth, or legacy, but of absence. It is about the silence passed down through generations, the wounds that linger long after the first cut, and the haunting echoes that shape the body and the self. The poems and essays here are not gentle. They are sharp, immersive, and unflinching. They speak of hollow chairs, birthdays without balloons, ghosts mistaken for fathers, mirrors that lied, and the long ache of running toward worthiness that was always withheld. They tear, they bruise, they devastate.

And yet, this is not only a book of despair. Inheritance of Silence is also a story of reclamation. It is about how the husk becomes home, how ruins give way to roots, how rage can become fertilizer, and how silence can finally break open into voice. It is about the moment when fracture is no longer the ending, but the ground where new growth insists on itself.

The anthology unfolds in three acts. Fractures is the beginning: the shattering, the fault lines pressed into bone, the unbearable weight of being unwanted. Echoes follows—the reverberation of silence, the ghosts carried into adulthood, the self turned against itself. And then, finally, Bloom arrives. It is the garden grown from ash, the vow that the cycle ends here, the anthem of survival as triumph. Each section immerses the reader fully, carrying them deeper into devastation before allowing the slow, steady rise of renewal.

This is not memoir, though it is intimate. It is not diary, though it is raw. It is a fictional retelling—story shaped from truth and imagination both—so the private can breathe in the open. If you recognize shadows, know they are echoes, not portraits. If you feel pain, know it is shared, not singular.

Inheritance of Silence is a harrowing book, yes—but it is also a defiant one. It insists that from ashes, a garden can grow. It insists that silence is not the only inheritance, that absence is not the only legacy. And it insists that survival, in all its jagged and imperfect glory, is not only possible, but beautiful.

This is a book for anyone who has carried wounds like heirlooms. For anyone who has felt fractured, hollow, or unseen. For anyone who needs to know that even in the deepest silence, the bloom still waits.