Fire Series I: They Fed Her Silence

They thought silence would keep her soft.

They gave her quiet instead of comfort.

They mistook her stillness for surrender.

But silence, for her, was never peace. It was pressure. It was weight. It was the sound of everything unsaid building beneath her ribs like smoke.

She didn’t break — she brewed.

They fed her silence like soil, thinking it would keep her small.

But it rooted something else:

Defiance.

Memory.

Fire.

Now when she speaks, it burns. And they ask why she’s so angry —

As if they didn’t bury her and expect her not to grow.