Breaking the Silence

 

I have spent years swallowing lies
Fed to me by you.
So I took it—
Without asking why, who, or how.
Thirteen years.
Thirteen years of living a goddamn lie.
I hovered outside my own body,
Watching myself from the sidelines.
A scared little puppy,
Curled up in the corner,
Whimpering, waiting for your command.
I would do anything—
Just to avoid the sting of your voice.
Inside, I was terrified. Frozen.
For thirteen years, you shaped me—
Weak, spineless, insignificant.
You silenced me.
Oh, how you silenced me.
You whispered lies about who I was,
Took pieces of me and twisted them
Into someone I could not recognize.
I was lost,
Unsure of where I ended and your version began.
So, I let you.
My backbone was too brittle,
Too fragile to hold me up against you.
Thirteen years I stayed quiet.
Pretended.
Smiled when they asked if I was happy.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I said.
But behind that smile was the truth—
A hollowed-out scream,
Swallowed over and over again,
Buried beneath all the lies I lived.
I wish I had spoken sooner.
I wish I had found the courage to stand.
But I couldn’t. I didn’t.
Until one day—
Something broke.
I woke up, and the rage rose inside me,
A fire that could no longer be tamed.
“Enough of this bullshit!” I told myself.
After thirteen years, I found my voice.
At first, it trembled,
A soft, fragile thing—
But it was there.
And though you screamed,
Told me I had become something you despised—
An “American woman,” loud and proud—
I fought back.
Even when fear threatened to crush me,
Even when I felt like I was breaking—
I fought.
You had your story,
But I had mine.
And with my bags packed,
I didn’t just leave—
I roared.
It took me thirteen years,
But I found my way to freedom.
And now?
You will never silence me again.
No one will ever silence me again.
Not in this lifetime.
Because now, I write my own story—
One where my voice rings clear,
My worth is undeniable,
And silence?
It’s no longer an option.