Less Than

In shadows cast by careless hands, 

I wander through forgotten lands, 

Brushed off like leaves on a winter's ground, 

In a world of silence, no solace found. 

Unseen, my cries hidden in air, 

Underneath the weight of their indifferent glare, 

Tormentors dance on the edges of light, 

While I stumble through dreams that haunt my night. 

With every laugh that sliced like glass, 

Each glance that turned me into past, 

I gathered wounds that festered and grew, 

A garden of pain, where hope barely sprouted through. 

Anger ignites in a heart withdrawn, 

A wildfire blazing before the dawn. 

For every slight, every cruel remark, 

They lit the match that left its mark. 

PTSD, my shadow and chain, 

A heavy cloak woven from grief and pain. 

Left to sift through the debris of me, 

Picking pieces I never thought would be free. 

Undervalued, anchored by doubt, 

Whispers of “less than” echo about. 

Yet amid the rubble, a flicker remains, 

A will to rise from these countless strains. 

I gather my strength from every ache, 

With each fractured moment, a chance to remake. 

Transcending the anger that held me so tight, 

I take back my power, reclaiming my light. 

Though they cast me aside, I'll no longer break, 

From the ashes of trauma, a new life I'll make. 

No more a victim, but a warrior bold, 

In the tapestry woven, my story is told.