Broken. Again by the same family line.
The ones who hurt me instead of grew my shine.
They’ve taken everything from me and my siblings too.
They’re so selfish they deny every bruise.
Yesterday the walls spoke in cold, hollow tones,
Judges, papers, claims—they don’t know our bones.
My voice shook but they silenced it with law,
My truth dismissed, my wounds left raw.
They call it chaos, they call it lies,
They can’t see the shadows behind our eyes.
I lost a piece, my sister gone to wrong hands,
A home that should heal now barely stands.
But even in the court of their cruel decree,
The pain inside refuses to let me be.
They can take names, they can shift the blame,
But they cannot erase the truth that remains.
We were here. We survived. We remember.
No paper, no claim, no unjust surrender
Can dim the light that still burns inside,
Even when the world says “divide.”
They say my home was unsafe, my world unfit,
Yet she goes to a house where danger sits.
The ones who should protect have broken trust,
Handed her over to fear, betrayal, and dust.
It feels like she died, even while she breathes,
The last sibling stolen, my heart on its knees.
Our family, ripped, scattered, torn apart,
They judge the healing but blind to the start.
It feels like mourning someone alive,
Counting the days, swallowing the cries.
Her laughter, once close, now echoes far,
A light dimmed by hands that ignored who we are.
I walk into our room, her belongings still there,
The smell of her interests, her clothes, her chair.
Everything frozen in a life we no longer share,
And it hits like grieving someone who isn’t here.
Every call, every text, every chance to reach,
Feels like grasping air, like grief has speech.
I carry her absence like a wound that won’t close,
A living ghost in the life I chose.
Still, we remember every night, every scream,
Every hidden tear, every stolen dream.
They may control the court, the papers, the law,
But they cannot erase the life we saw.
We are the truth they refuse to face,
The living proof of the violence and disgrace.
Even if our family line bends, breaks, and bleeds,
We carry each other’s heartbeats, our silent creeds.
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