“Being used and abused”

Abused, not bruised, the scars run deep inside,  
Where laughter faded, tenderness would hide.  
A hollow echo in a crowded room,  
A wilted flower that’s denied its bloom.  

Promises whispered like petals in rain—  
Plucked, crumbled, cast aside to mask the pain.  
They wore kind faces, painted masks of gold,  
Sly velvet words that tightened, took hold.  

Yet still—a flicker fights beneath the skin,  
A stubborn hope that softly glows within.  
From fractures, light can seep through shade and stone,  
The strength to stand, to find a way alone.  

Not broken—no, I’m battered but not done,  
Like stars that wage against the dusk, I run.  
Edges softened, soul a weathered tree:  
A tale of healing, scarred, but finding me.

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