We write in water on pages that drink
Our stories deep, then show nothing clear—
Black letters bleeding as we speak and sink
Our truths to rooms that will not hear.
The words are there. We know they're there,
We've felt the pressure of the pen
Against disbelief, the scratch of care
On unlined lives. But dried again
Our testimonies fade to white,
A ghost-script of the love they miss.
Still we write, press down with all our might—
Every breath rebellion, heartbeat's bliss
Watch us raise our pens against the light:
Even invisible ink casts shadows bright.