Once… She Wrote a Poem

Once, she wrote a poem.

Not for love,

not for beauty,

but because the ache inside her

needed somewhere to go.

She didn’t write to be understood—

she wrote to stay alive.

Each word a pulse,

each line a breath she wasn’t sure she’d take otherwise.

The paper never judged her.

It didn’t tell her to move on

or to smile more.

It just listened

and held her pain like it mattered.

She wrote about the ghosts she carried,

the nights that wouldn’t end,

the kind of loneliness

that made her forget her own name.

And when she finished,

she didn’t feel healed—

but she felt seen.

Even if only by the page.

Now, when she looks back,

she doesn’t just see ink—

she sees survival.

She sees a girl

who refused to let silence

be the last word.

Once, she wrote a poem.

And maybe that was the moment

she began to come back to life.