by Liam 

Come here, my small one,

slip out from the hush of hidden rooms,

where shadows tried to teach you

you were too much, or not enough.

I have walked the years to find you,

following the bright, trembling line

of your laughter,

and the salt-trail of your tears.

I know the weight you carried,

how silence felt safer

than asking for what you needed,

how the world loomed enormous

and your heart beat

like a frightened bird

against the walls of your ribs.

Let me kneel beside you now,

and speak into that hush:

You were never wrong for feeling deeply.

Your tenderness is not a wound.

It is the place where light enters.

I have become the arms

you wished would hold you.

I am the voice that says:

It is safe, beloved.

Come into the day.

I bring you news from the far shore:

There is beauty waiting

where you once feared only dark.

The world can be gentle.

There are those who see you whole,

who hold your gaze with kindness.

In me, you have survived

and more than survived:

You have learned to bless your own scars

and call your spirit home.

So let us begin again,

hand in hand,

speaking softly

to every hidden hurt,

letting the hush be filled

with new music—

the music of a life

no longer ashamed

to shine.