The Image They Broke explores the lasting impact of childhood bullying, body shaming, and emotional neglect. It reflects on how repeated ridicule and the silence of those meant to protect us can shape self-image long into adulthood. At its heart, the poem is about surviving invisible wounds, confronting betrayal, and giving voice to pain that often remains hidden behind a quiet exterior.
Many criticize my choice to remain faceless on social media.
Little do they know,
I carry a shattered image deep within me.
A relentless voice whispers,
“Not even darkness claims your silhouette.”
My childhood was not a bed of roses,
and through the shifting years,
I carry still the ghosts of youth,
the scars inflicted on my tender years
Between childhood and adulthood,
I suffered relentless ridicule
that left my spirit deeply bruised
for a face and body
I never designed.
They compared me to animals.
They mocked my height, my posture, my hair, my body,
every inch of my existence
became material for their amusement.
They even questioned my intelligence
because I failed to understand an adult joke
while I was still an elementary school child.
I was only a teenager,
walking to school with empty pockets,
yet ridiculed for lacking glamour
of wealthy children returning from the U.S.
I stood nearby,
a shadow on the edge,
while compliments rained upon girls younger than I.
Each kind word offered to them
echoing as a cruel reminder
that I was somehow less
Parents are meant to guard a child,
to shield them from a world so wild.
Yet, when those of my own kin
strung me with bitter scars against my skin,
pressing the sharpest thorns upon my rose,
my parents remained silent
and left me alone to wilt with time.
I cried, I howled at the thought of their hissing,
yet my parents still carried me back to their nests
as they basked in the glow of the money they saved,
while the monsters preyed upon my "self."
The silence of my parents
was itself a form of cruelty.
It taught me to bear the brunt quietly,
to carry a shame that was never mine,
and to blame myself for wounds I never created.
Today, I feel profoundly betrayed
by the very ones who gave me life.
My inner world lies broken in ten thousand shards,
scattered in ways
I fear no healer’s hand can ever fully mend
