Yeah… They called me the problem, the wild one, the loud one, But nobody asked why my soul was always drowning. They said I was dramatic, too sensitive, too much, But I was just reacting to a world that was rough. I grew up in a house where the truth was a threat, Where denial was comfort and silence was kept. They built a whole story where they were the saints, And I was the sinner for feeling the pain. I’m talking to you, little me in the storm, They said you were broken, said you weren’t “normal.” But you were the only one seeing it clear, Calling out wrong when nobody wanted to hear. They lived in a delusion, a self-made lie, Where harm was “love” and abuse was “trying.” Where crossing your boundaries was “for your own good,” And fear in your body was “misunderstood.” So you became the mirror they hated to face, The truth they tried to bury, the crack in their place. You weren’t the problem, you were the proof That something was rotten behind the roof. They said you were angry, rebellious, insane, But pain looks like anger when it can’t explain. A child with a voice in a house that preferred A version of you that was silent and blurred. You questioned the rules, you felt the wrong, You didn’t fit in where the lies lived strong. So they labeled you difficult, labeled you bad, Instead of admitting the damage they had. Now you’re grown and you still carry that name, Still feeling guilty for speaking your pain. Still apologizing for existing too loud, Still shrinking your light to not upset a crowd. But listen to me, yeah I’m talking to you: You weren’t the problem, you were the truth. You were the one with the courage to feel, In a family addicted to what wasn’t real. You were the canary in a poisoned room, The warning sign they chose to consume. The one who broke cycles by seeing them first, Even if it meant being labeled the worst. So wear that title and flip it around: “Problem child” means you wouldn’t go down With the lie, with the silence, with the “this is fine,” You chose to survive, not live blind. You weren’t wrong. You weren’t crazy. You were awake in a world that was hazy. And that takes strength. That takes sight. That takes a soul that refuses the night

The problem child