The Fire I Never Asked For

You were the one I once called home,

A place I trusted, flesh and bone—

But shadows lived behind your eyes,

And now I see through every lie.

My children’s laughter turned to cries,

You stole their light, ignored their “why”s.

You shattered walls we built with care,

And left me choking on despair.

You broke more than just vows that day,

You taught me monsters wear your face.

Yet here I stand, though torn apart—

With broken pieces of my heart.

I rage, I mourn, I scream inside,

For innocence you cast aside.

But I will fight. I will not yield—

Their wounds will not go unconcealed.

Each step I take is laced with pain,

But I will rise and speak their names.

Not silent. Not ashamed. Not weak.

I’ll be the roar when they can’t speak.

You thought you buried us in shame,

But we are rising from the flame.

And every tear you caused to fall

Will build a wall—unbreakable.