Born Of Shadows. Poem by MIRAK Montiel

'Born of Shadows'

When I was a child,
I ran blind through the wild,
not out of joy—but to escape.
Chasing illusions shaped in fog,
seeking a land that never existed,
a place where silence wouldn't scream
and my restless heart could bleed freely.

My story begins with a mistake—
a creature carved before time,
thrown into a world that recoiled at its touch.
I was loved, yes—
but only like a thorned fruit,
tolerated in hunger,
spit out in peace.

Alone,
I began to clutch the stars,
not for wonder,
but to hold something that wouldn't leave me.
Each night,
a ghost grew beside me—
stitched from the marrow of my nightmares,
fed by my screams no one heard.
It took my hand,
and together we wandered the corridors of my pain,
numb and uninvited.

I've lived through forty lifeless seasons,
caught in the frost between autumn's decay
and winter's grave.
No warmth. No end.

But somewhere in the rot,
a part of me still prays—
that one day,
spring might come for even me,
so I might bloom
not into beauty,
but into something that can no longer be broken.