May 29 • 🪩 Reflections
Where do I start
It all began in the womb I was born,
a womb that carried generational trauma and shame.
You can call me a chosen one,
but I had no choice over my fate.
I searched for love in every face—
that’s all I ever needed, I swear.
But I grew up learning to go without,
wishing my dad had been more present.
They said puberty hit you like a truck,
but no one warned me about the men who prey.
I was drawn to all the broken men,
maybe because I was just the same.
Everything happens for a reason, I know—
but it feels like I lost everyone in the end.
Maybe that’s the price we pay
to break the cycle of old mistakes.
I could go on and on,
but I can never fully express
the depths of this pain.
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Where do I start
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