I Carry Memories, But I Carry Myself More

I’ve carried hearts that weren’t mine to hold,
buried pieces of me in stories they told.
Loved like a prayer, broke like a war—
but baby, I carry myself more.

I’ve stitched my wounds with late-night tears,
danced with my shadows, faced my fears.
I’ve smiled through pain, stayed when I swore,
I’d never— but damn, I carry myself more.

I’ve walked through fire with grace on my skin,
lost a few battles but refused to give in.
Turned heartbreak into poetry, silence into roar—
because I’m the storm they prayed away, the calm they ignored.

They tried to define me by what I survived,
but I’m more than the wreckage— I’m what revived.
My peace, my worth, my power restored—
I am my own closure, my own reward.

So yeah, I carry memories— I’ve earned those scars,
but they don’t drive me; I steer the car.
I’m done being small to keep love secure,
I carry memories, but I carry myself more.