在手机上保存，获得更好体验
I write then erase every line
Each word I form feels less than fine
I fear the echo fear the tone—
Afraid I’ll burn if truth is shown
I learned that speaking can invite
The kind of wounds that steal your light
So silence wraps around my will—
A blanket cold but oddly still
But words deserve to stretch and stay
To shape the things I need to say
And trembling speech still has its place—
A monument to stolen grace
So if I pause before I speak
Please don’t assume I’m mute or weak
I’m growing braver with each sound—
To let my voice be safe and found
