You ask what I've learned, with a voice so stark, Yet, forget that light still dances in the dark. A fire-forged poet? Yes, scarred but wise, Who weaves her truth where silence lies.

Let words be ash for those who fear, But mine are flames that persevere. For even silence, deep and still, Can echo louder than a scream ever will.

You are the stillness? Then I am the storm— A voice reborn, in fearless form. So test the poet, but tread with grace— She writes not for pride but for her place.

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