Healing & Becoming
Poetry about surviving, rebuilding, learning yourself again, and becoming someone new without pretending the bruises never happened.
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Changing does not betray the woman she was; it simply means some survival versions no longer need permanent rooms inside her.
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Healing means keeping the truth about mistakes and scars without letting either become the whole story.
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She spent too long putting herself on trial for someone else’s silence before realizing the crime was never being too much.
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Healing did not make her untouched; it taught roots to grow through wreckage and flowers to feed on what once tried to bury her.
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After years of searching for home in other people’s arms, she realizes the place she kept rebuilding was herself.
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She hated the place while she lived there, yet memory still aches for its mountains, smoke-filled summers, and the person she was inside them.
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She knows darkness well enough to walk it with her eyes closed, which may be exactly why she is finally learning how to leave.
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Choosing joy does not erase old pain; it simply refuses to let every bruise, promise, and goodbye own the rest of the story.
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The walls remember every version of her—the tears, the coffee, the restless nights, and the woman who kept figuring out what came next.
