“What I Carry, I Give”
I have walked through fire that wore no flame,
Named it “home,” and answered to pain.
My childhood, a storm without shelter,
Love—barbed and bruising,
And still, I stayed tethered.
They say time heals,
But it wasn’t time that saved me.
It was the nights I sang myself calm,
The mornings I stood when I didn’t want to,
The prayers I whispered to no one—
And somehow, to everything.
I have known hands that broke instead of held,
Eyes that looked and never saw.
I have called silence my sibling,
And shame—my shadow.
But I rose anyway.
Not untouched.
Not unscarred.
But awake.
Now, I wear my wounds like lanterns,
Lit and swinging for the lost.
I speak,
Because once, no one did.
I reach,
Because I remember the ache
Of an unanswered heart.
I want to know your story—
Not just the pain,
But the defiance beneath it.
The way you kept breathing
When everything said don’t.
Let me hold your story in my hands,
Not to fix it—
But to free it.
To tell it so loud,
That even your silence feels seen.
This is my offering:
The soft place after the fall.
The echo that answers,
“I hear you.”
The light passed on,
From one healed wound
To another just beginning.
What I carry, I give.
Not because I have none left,
But because I have enough.
Enough truth to carve a path,
Enough pain to make it real,
Enough love to say:
Come as you are—
And don’t hide anything.
I am creating a youtube channel that I hope can create a safe space for stories to be shared for people to be seen but not necessarily known its them. There is something so satisfying about your truth being heard and seeing it create value in other's eyes, helping them heal, grow, self-reflect. I know our lives are hard, we pay the price for things we never chose to buy, but surely there must be something we gain from it even still?
I refuse to accept there is nothing to gain. DM me if you would like to chat. I would love to hear your story.
Named it “home,” and answered to pain.
My childhood, a storm without shelter,
Love—barbed and bruising,
And still, I stayed tethered.
They say time heals,
But it wasn’t time that saved me.
It was the nights I sang myself calm,
The mornings I stood when I didn’t want to,
The prayers I whispered to no one—
And somehow, to everything.
I have known hands that broke instead of held,
Eyes that looked and never saw.
I have called silence my sibling,
And shame—my shadow.
But I rose anyway.
Not untouched.
Not unscarred.
But awake.
Now, I wear my wounds like lanterns,
Lit and swinging for the lost.
I speak,
Because once, no one did.
I reach,
Because I remember the ache
Of an unanswered heart.
I want to know your story—
Not just the pain,
But the defiance beneath it.
The way you kept breathing
When everything said don’t.
Let me hold your story in my hands,
Not to fix it—
But to free it.
To tell it so loud,
That even your silence feels seen.
This is my offering:
The soft place after the fall.
The echo that answers,
“I hear you.”
The light passed on,
From one healed wound
To another just beginning.
What I carry, I give.
Not because I have none left,
But because I have enough.
Enough truth to carve a path,
Enough pain to make it real,
Enough love to say:
Come as you are—
And don’t hide anything.
I am creating a youtube channel that I hope can create a safe space for stories to be shared for people to be seen but not necessarily known its them. There is something so satisfying about your truth being heard and seeing it create value in other's eyes, helping them heal, grow, self-reflect. I know our lives are hard, we pay the price for things we never chose to buy, but surely there must be something we gain from it even still?
I refuse to accept there is nothing to gain. DM me if you would like to chat. I would love to hear your story.
