Carved Words Poem by Micron Jan

They say sticks and stones may break your bones,
That words can never truly wound—
But some remain, like soft, slow tones,
Lingering long, shaping afternoons.

I've stumbled, felt the weight of pain,
Yet learned to walk, to care, to guide.
Each mark, each echo, every strain,
Reminds me of the strength inside.

Though anger spoke and shadows cast,
I chose to hold, to love, to last.
These words may visit, soft and near,
But they no longer rule my sphere.

I walk forward, calm and slow,
With space for sadness, room to grow.
I am more than what was carved before;
I am becoming something more.