they call me put-together
like the pieces
didn't take twelve years
to glue back
they call me quiet
like the noise inside
isn't a marching band
they call me perfect
like the word
doesn't taste
like swallowed glass

"The perfect girl nobody actually sees."
Born premature. Father walks out of the hospital. She fights for breath before she fights for anything else.
The first kiss that wasn't. Stolen, not given. The word for what happened is one she's still learning to say out loud.
Mom Sonia is battling breast cancer. The abandonment anxiety screams back. Depression sits at the foot of her bed.
The night her tears hit the page and the ink started to glow. Emotional alchemy. Pain → power. Words → light.
Words literally glow when she writes honestly about her pain.
Her poetry can wrap other tender hearts in soft, golden shields.
She can pull sadness out of a room and write it into something usable.
Her tears become healing droplets when they hit the page.

Ninety-five percent guardian energy. Three colors that map exactly to Raeni's journey: orange for the warrior, black for the trauma she's still moving through, white for what gets to come next.
they call me put-together
like the pieces
didn't take twelve years
to glue back
they call me quiet
like the noise inside
isn't a marching band
they call me perfect
like the word
doesn't taste
like swallowed glass
my mother taught me
to fold the fitted sheet
and to fold myself
smaller
smaller
until i fit
in the space
he left
i wrote the worst thing
that ever happened to me
on a page
and the page
started
to glow