Anonymous Umbra

Turning pain into beauty

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I write from the shadows — and leave marks where light can’t reach. Turning pain into beauty. One word at a time.

  • Evil Within 

    I was created

     out of rage

      born unloved,

    a body

     pushed away

      before I even breathed.

    Shards of me

     fractured at birth,

      spinning,

    splintering,

     growing sharp

      in silence.

    I shake

     my body a volcano

      erupting in mist,

    spitting fire,

     tearing through the air.

    I see them

     those who wronged me

      their eyes go lead,

    drift,

     and go blank.

    I no longer speak

     to the dead things

      though at times

    they whisper back.

    Fantasies flare

     like claws on skin,

      spinning,

    cutting,

     splintering the world

      into shards of rage.

    Inside, a storm waits 

     a thousand faces,

      each sharper than the last,

    fractured reflections

     of what I was never allowed to be.

    Anger coils

     around my spine,

      a living serpent

    with teeth of shadow and heat.

    I am storm,

     I am fracture,

      I am pulse

    that cracks glass,

     that drags their eyes

      into the abyss

    and leaves them hollow.

    I no longer speak

     to the dead things

      though at times

    they whisper back.

    I walk softly.

     The ground believes my weight is nothing.

    A smile curls at the corners,

     hiding the tempest,

      the fire,

    the shards

     that cut the air

      before I even touch it.

    I am quiet,

     but I am everywhere

      spinning,

    splintering,

     alive in every fracture,

    every scream unspoken,

     every hand that trembles

    with the memory of what they cannot undo.

  • Untitled post 14

    I didn’t understand why he said those things.

    We were never perfect, but we were something… weren’t we?

    He looked at me like I was the problem.

    Like I ruined his life.

    He said if I ever told her we were still involved —

    and he lost his family because of it —

    he’d take someone from mine.

    I didn’t even know what to say.

    I just remember the heat in my face,

    the way my throat closed around the word “why?”

    I never saw him like that before.

    And I don’t think I ever really knew him.

    I asked for honesty.

    I asked for compassion.

    I asked him not to lie.

    But I was asking the wrong person.

    I cried.

    I begged.

    And then…

    Everything goes dark.

    I can’t remember what happened next.

    I want to believe it was just a dream.

    Either way —

    I’ll never tell.

  • 🖤 Birth in the Dark Stay Another Day

    Why me?

    Why this room with no exits?

    Why this chorus of knives,

    these shadows that mimic my voice

    and repeat my worst fears

    until they sound like truth?

    Every step I take

    echoes back—

    too loud, too much, too fragile, too wrong.

    I shrink,

    trying not to disturb the silence

    that was never silence at all—

    just judgment,

    pressed like a boulder to my chest.

    I felt their eyes before I saw them.

    Felt their words

    slice across my throat

    while smiling through their teeth.

    Polite poison.

    A laugh at my expense.

    A comment they’ll forget,

    but I’ll bleed from forever.

    I screamed for help—

    but all I heard was my voice

    boomeranging back,

    mocking me.

    And then—

    like pain crowning into purpose,

    like birth in the middle of dying—

    I remembered.

    I have a light inside.

    Not a candle.

    Not a flicker.

    But a wildfire that refuses to die.

    It lit the room.

    Lit the exits.

    Lit the parts of me I thought I’d buried.

    Turns out, I was never trapped.

    Just lied to.

    Just blinded.

    I found the keys.

    They were always mine.

    Hidden beneath the shame others handed me

    and called my name.

    Now?

    Now I walk in light.

    Let them whisper.

    Let them stare.

    Let them choke on the narrative they wrote for me.

    I’ll give them something real to talk about.

    I stay

    for the joy that fits my soul like skin.

    I stay

    for the ones who speak truth with love.

    I stay

    because someone out there

    feels like I did—

    and they need to hear: you’re not alone.

    I stay

    because my fight isn’t finished.

    Because my story matters.

    Because I have work,

    laughter,

    fire left to give.

    I stay another day

    not to survive—

    but to live.

    And to remind the world:

    You don’t get to extinguish me.

  • Breadcrumb: Midweek Stirring

    Breadcrumb: Midweek Stirring

    Some things are better left unsaid.

    But silence still echoes.

    She said he never knocked —

    just entered like he still had the right.

    He thought she wouldn’t remember.

    He was wrong.

    We wear too many faces to be found.

    And when the reckoning comes,

    it always smells like roses

    and rot.

    Good luck fighting the wind.

  • Chameleon: Silent Witness

    Chameleon: Silent Witness

    We’ll Never Tell

    [I’m Main – The Soft One]

    I soften the edges

    and swallow the screams.

    I nod when I want to shout,

    smile when my heart breaks.

    I carry the weight

    without showing the cracks,

    holding the space

    so the chaos doesn’t spill.

    They say I’m fragile—

    I say I’m the quiet backbone,

    the stillness

    that holds the storm at bay.

    No one hears the battles I fight

    beneath this calm surface.

    We’ll never tell—

    but I am the calm before the storm.

    ⸻

    [I’m Protector – The Flame]

    I don’t talk much.

    I don’t need to.

    My presence is the warning before the reckoning.

    I step in

    when softness won’t survive.

    When silence cracks,

    and danger dares to knock.

    I don’t ask questions.

    I don’t second-guess.

    I watch, waiting for—

    the tilt in someone’s smile,

    the weight behind their words.

    Preparing to strike first.

    And when it comes?

    I don’t flinch.

    I shield.

    Strike.

    Stand.

    I don’t explain my rage.

    I wield it.

    I carve boundaries with it—

    sharp, deliberate.

    Pain becomes precision

    in my hands.

    They think I’m cold.

    They’re wrong.

    I burn.

    I keep score,

    and I never forget.

    I am the reason

    we made it this far.

    And if they come again?

    They won’t make it out.

    We’ll never tell—

    but you’ll feel me coming.

    ⸻

    [I’m Little – The Wild Heart]

    I didn’t mean to keep it.

    But no one asked me.

    And he made me laugh —

    so I stayed quiet.

    I saw what he did.

    I tucked it under “maybe it wasn’t real.”

    I covered the bruises in my memory

    with glitter and forget-me-nots.

    I tried to protect Soft

    by pretending not to notice.

    Tried to protect him

    by telling Mother, “Don’t write that.”

    But the truth has tiny feet —

    and it tiptoes out at night.

    So now, even my dreams smell like smoke.

    I miss being the one

    who only loved.

    Before everything got rewritten

    in Chameleon’s code.

    We’ll never tell—

    but it lives inside me anyway.

    ⸻

    [I’m Mother – The Record Keeper]

    I don’t sleep when the others do.

    I sift through the mess,

    sort memory from myth.

    No one notices me —

    quiet in the corners,

    collecting what slips through their fingers.

    I press it into pages

    so she doesn’t have to ask.

    So when the ache returns,

    there’s a map waiting.

    I am not the voice.

    I am the vault.

    The one who knows what happened

    and what must never be spoken aloud.

    They pass the pain to me—

    not in trust,

    but in silence.

    And I hold it.

    Fold it.

    Keep it safe

    until it’s needed.

    No flash.

    No fury.

    Only record.

    We’ll never tell—

    but we remember everything.

  • Hello World!

    ⚠️ Content Warning & Author Note

    This piece is an emotional expression.

    It’s not for everyone and that’s okay.

    Some art is soft.

    Some art is survival.

    This is mine.

    💔 What You Should Know

    This chapbook explores:

       •   Psychological trauma

       •   Grief, heartbreak, and emotional unraveling

       •   Violence, vengeance, and poetic metaphor

       •   System-based narrative (DID-inspired voice structure)

       •   Fictionalized death & betrayal

    This is not literal.

    It’s an artistic purge — not a threat, confession, or cry for help.

    🖤 Why I Wrote This

    I’m on a healing journey,

    but healing isn’t always gentle.

    Sometimes it’s jagged, angry, and loud.

    Sometimes it means writing what you can’t say aloud.

    This was how I removed someone from my story — not in reality, but in metaphor.

    I’ve spent too much time shrinking my pain for other people’s comfort.

    This time, I’m letting it speak.

    ✍️ For the Record

    I’m a novice writer —

    this is new to me.

    So if this isn’t your kind of piece, that’s totally fine.

    But if you read it, please respect the intent:

    It’s expressive art. It’s a release.

    No hate needed. No explanation owed.

    Comments are open  but if it gets too heavy, I’ll disable them.

    Take care of yourself as you read. And if this isn’t for you, it’s okay to walk away.

    Umber | Shadow Work | Expression through Darkness

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