The Denim Diaries

In the weave of denim, I find my strength,
A fabric worn, not for its length,
But for the story, it lets me tell,
Of dark nights that felt like an unending hell.

They said it was the drink, the laugh, the place,
That my skirt somehow diminished my grace.
Fraternity chants in the air, like a toxic mist,
But it was my soul they never kissed.

Yet here I stand, in my denim clad,
Not a victim of the night, nor the fads.
I’ve walked through storms, faced the gale,
My spirit wounded, but it did not fail.

Denim Day, a symbol, a silent scream,
For justice, for healing, for the dream
That one day, no story will be the same,
No person blamed, no hidden shame.

I am a survivor, my story not done,
I rise each day with the defiant sun.
In my denim, I find my voice,
In my healing, I make the choice.

To be more than the nights that tried to break me,
More than the shadows that sought to take me.
I am a beacon, a warrior, a light,
In denim, I find the strength to fight.

So here’s to the fabric that tells my tale,
To the journey of healing, though I may falter or fail.
I’m not just surviving; I’m learning to thrive,
In denim, I remember, I’m wonderfully alive.