May 17 • Share Your Writing! 📖
My Body is Not My Own
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
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My Body is Not My Own
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