Generational Trauma
This wasnât love.
It was triage.
Two open wounds
pressing together,
calling the bleeding
connection.
Reassurance instead of intimacy.
Defense instead of truth.
Loyalty forged
in fear,
not choice.
You donât hold each otherâ
you brace.
You donât growâ
you stabilize.
Every fight a pulse check.
Every apology a sedative.
Every âus against themâ
another way
to avoid looking inward.
Thatâs not passion.
Thatâs regulation.
Love doesnât need
this much noise
to stay alive.
You didnât build a future.
You built a system
to keep the pain
from screaming.
-Violet Hernandez

















