Where Words Wound

I stand before a mirror today,
And their words stare back at me.
A distorted reflection I can’t undo.
Years have passed, yet their echoes remain,
Wounding words ring, a phantom pain.

I remember the way they called my name.
Spitting venom, throwing stones.
Their laughter was never for fun.
It was a weapon, and it broke me apart.
Each day felt heavier than the last.

The playground wasn’t safe for me.
It was a war zone in plain sight—
Words like knives,
Smiles that lied,
Tears I had to hide.

Each step home stretched for ages,
And though I lacked strength,
Silence became my shield.
So, I told no one.
No one would understand.

Now, in my late twenties,
Afraid to shrink, I laugh too loud.
Fearing it all, I agree too fast.
Seeing the way I fold,
I know their whispers still shape my voice.

Some days, I want to scream.
Tell my younger self I’m proud.
Though the scars still sting, I survived.
But healing is a road of twists and bends,
And ghosts of the past don’t make amends.

Yet, I walk forward,
Trying to find my light each day.
The weight of their words grows lighter,
The echoes fade, though never gone.
My wounds may never fully vanish,
But they no longer define who I am.