A child was left, her parents gone,
Raised in a house where love was withdrawn.
No gentle hands, no birthday cheer,
Just silence echoing year by year.
Relatives kept her, but hearts were cold,
Stories of kindness were never told.
She learned to shrink, to hide her pain,
To walk through shadows, through endless rain.
No candles lit, no songs to sing,
No gifts, no joy, no golden ring.
Her birthdays vanished, lost in time,
Forgotten verses, unsung rhyme.
But at twenty-four, she stood alone,
With strength she’d gathered, fully grown.
She bought a cake, she lit the flame,
And whispered softly her own name.
“I matter now, I claim my place,
I rise with courage, I live with grace.
No crowd, no choir, no borrowed hand,
I celebrate what I withstand.”