by, Samantha Syrnich TLC

I learned to whisper
when I longed to roar,
to swallow storms
so others stayed dry.
A soft touch masking
a soul on fire—
I called it love,
but it was survival.
In rooms too sharp for tears,
I buried my lamb,
tender and trembling,
beneath a mask
of calm compliance.
And the lion?
I chained her,
fearing what freedom
might destroy.
But healing—
true healing—
is not silence.
It is the rising howl
and the sacred cry.
It is standing bare,
both beast and balm,
both tear and teeth.
I am whole now.
I carry the wild and the wounded
in one breath.
And now,
when I speak—
the world listens,
because I finally do.
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