Born of Pain or Born of Privilege

This poem is for my friend Lenny and all the other Lenny’s who have faced down racism and hatred. She was born of pain—poor, Black, and forgotten by the systems meant to protect her. Raised in a world that mistook her resilience for rebellion, she learned to navigate life with scars no one saw and strength no one acknowledged. Lenny didn’t grow up with privilege; she grew up with survival. This poem is her voice—a reflection of the fire she walked through just to be heard.

Born of Pain or Born of Privilege

by Adena M’lynn

Were you born of pain or born of privilege—

did the world greet you with lullabies or locks?

Did your crib come with silver spoons

or warnings not to cry too loud?

I was born where the screaming didn’t stop,

where love was rationed like powdered milk,

where bedtime stories came with bruises

and hope was something you had to steal.

You—

you speak of trauma like it’s a TED Talk.

Like survival is a trend

you tried on once for empathy’s sake.

But some of us learned to tie our shoes

in shelters.

Learned to spell our names

on court documents.

Learned to hide joy in our sock drawers

because someone might steal that too.

Were you born of pain or privilege?

Because the ones born of pain

don’t ask for pity—

they ask to be heard

without having to bleed first.

We build homes out of broken glass,

wear trust like borrowed coats,

and still—

we show up.

Scarred,

but singing.

You can keep your safe beginnings.

We were born of fire.

And we

still rise.