Member-only story

The Roots of Doubt

Donia
1 min readJan 3, 2025

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Was it kindness,
or the art of destruction disguised,
a soft touch turned to splinters —
tiny wooden daggers enter my skin,
but that was your plan all along?

To dig deep and bury, to lay your seed of doubt,
to watch it grow, twist its roots inside me,
until my lungs betrayed me,
and pushed the air up, and out to tell me I’m what’s wrong with you.

You twist the words I cannot escape,
turn them into chains around my throat.

Now I speak only when you let me,
my voice a whisper, a shadow of itself.

Your touch wraps around my mind,
like vines that grow faster than I can break free.

Each thought becomes a reflection of your will,
until my own desires feel foreign,
distant, as if they belong to someone else.

You’ve rewritten me without lifting a finger,
each moment of silence a word you didn’t need to say.

I am quieter now, softer,
tuned to your every shift,
like a string pulled taut —
waiting for the snap,
waiting for you to tell me what’s next,
what I’ll become.

-Donia

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Donia
Donia

Written by Donia

I’m not really sure why I write, I always hated it in school and now I use it to convey what I don’t feel like I can say out-loud, enjoy.

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