Hi, my name is Adena
A Spoken Word Poem on Self-Healing and Love Hi, my name is Adena… You’ve been broken, Adena. You weren’t even aware of it— not at first, not when silence became your second skin, not when laughter sounded borrowed, not when trust felt like a stranger’s accent. Memories are a funny thing. They come like shadows, stretching long across the floor when the sun begins to set. They slip into the room when you’re not looking— a smell, a sound, a touch of air too heavy to name. And— here you are, Adena. Still breathing. Still searching the sky for shapes in the clouds. Still learning to call the cracks in your soul something other than weakness. You see, broken doesn’t mean ruined. Broken means you’ve survived the fall and carried every shard back home. Broken means you’ve rebuilt yourself in the image of courage, one trembling piece at a time. Love— not the kind written in sonnets, but the kind that sarts with your own reflection— is teaching you patience. It says: Sit with yoursel...