Between Bruises & Blooms

She came to me
with thorns still in her teeth,

all wild eyes
and warning,

a little scrap of forest
wearing fur.

She did not know
what hands were for.

So she used her claws.

Used her teeth.

Made herself sharp enough
that maybe
nothing could ever hurt her first.

And I thought—

there you are.

Another creature
who learned survival
before softness.

I gave her space.

A blanket.

A quiet place
to let the fear leave
in its own time.

Hours ago,
she fought me
like I was the monster.

Now she is curled
against my body,

letting my fingers
move between her ears
as if she has always belonged here.

As if somewhere
beneath all that wilderness,

she remembered
what it meant
to be held.

I named her Briar.

Because some things
are beautiful
and still have teeth.

Because softness
does not erase
the thorns.

Because the forest
has always known
how to grow life
from places
no one thought
could bloom.

And maybe
Black Briar Forest
was never only a place
inside my poems.

Maybe tonight,

it followed me home.