My Body Is Not My Own.

Discovery of ones self.

When can I call

It home?

She has beaten, broken.

She had many battle scars

But when I look

She bares all -

Every wound ,

Every memory

Etched in like an

Accient maps.

Her silence

Is heavy

Yet her truth

Is unhinged

Still She breathes

A quiet beneath

Her bones remember

Strength remembers

Touch

Her heart remembers

💕💓

One day

She rise

Not as s vessel

Of wounds

But as a temple

Of strength

Her scars will be

Stories

Her breath will be

Freedom and

She will know

She is Home

L