This poem was written in a season where endurance became its own kind of language.
Unbroken
I’m not broken—
my edges are rough,
worn,
sharpened.
This is proof of my strength,
my resilience,
my relentless will.
The world tries to dull me.
Men try to take from me.
My shadows fight to break me.
But these ragged,
weathered,
razor-sharp edges
stand as evidence
of their failure.
I’m not broken—
no.
I am the woman
they always feared I’d become.
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