My Healing Is Louder Than Their Hate

They called it ruin.
I called it rebirth.
They watched me fall
and mistook the silence
for defeat.

But I was not broken—
I was becoming.
Tending to the wildfire
they lit in me.
Turning ash into armour.
Turning no into never again.

I have stitched my skin
with the golden thread of survival.
Not pretty. Not painless.
But whole.
And holy.

Their cruelty echoed—
sharp, rehearsed,
a chorus of cowardice.
But I was never theirs to quiet.
And now,
my voice outshines their violence.

I am not who I was
when they first tried to unmake me.
I am taller in truth.
Softer in soul.
And louder than every lie
they ever told
about who I’d become.

This is not a thank you.
This is not for them.
This is a hymn
to the girl who stayed
when everyone else left.
Who kept walking
on shattered feet
with dreams in her teeth.

She is me.
And I am still here.
Wiser. Wilder.
Boundless.
Blazing.

Their hate was a whisper.
My healing is a choir.
Their legacy ends in bitterness.
Mine begins in bloom.

So let them talk.
Let them twist.
Let them scream into their own voids.

I will keep rising.
I will keep creating.
I will keep loving louder
than they ever learned to speak.

Because I am not what they did.
I am what I chose next.
And I choose this—
light without apology.
joy without permission.
healing that sings
so loudly,
so fiercely,
it drowns them all out.

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