If Walls Could Speak

A home marked by struggle, reclaimed by love and defiance.

If these walls could talk, they’d need therapy.

If they had arms, maybe they would’ve held me when he didn’t.

If they had eyes, they’d have shut tight and wept.

We moved into this house back when I was a good little chosen one, waiting for the rapture, counting down to glory, still thinking suffering made me holy.

These walls have seen it all.

They held in the silence after he raped me.

They heard my babies cry and couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

They muffled the fights, the threats, the apologies that meant nothing.

They watched me unravel, and then rebuild.

Now? These walls echo with laughter and quiet.

The music screams, and we scream back with our bodies - dancing free because we made it out alive.

Burnt toast at 7 a.m; a life that’s finally mine

This house has been a prison. A war zone. And now, a sanctuary.

Revenge doesn’t always look like fire and fury.

Sometimes, revenge is found in the stillness.

the quiet we finally get to own.