Healing & Becoming
Poetry about surviving, rebuilding, learning yourself again, and becoming someone new without pretending the bruises never happened.
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The moon could not return what was lost, but beneath it she learned to stop asking the sky to rebuild a life only she could keep living.
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She stopped mistaking chaos for love and learned to turn around when a road makes the body remember fear.
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The past still lives in courtrooms, hospitals, and old names, but each morning the garden keeps proving life can grow beside memory.
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Porches, gravel roads, abandoned houses, forests, and kitchens become the places that held her when people could not.
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The woman who once waited has already left, and the old door was burned for firewood the moment almost stopped being enough.
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Regret may line the path behind her, but it does not get to choose the direction of the next step.
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The harm did not come from some abstract darkness; it had a familiar face, a familiar voice, and choices that belonged to you.
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Becoming means naming who she is now without softening it, and deciding which old versions no longer get to come along.
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Some feelings live between grief, longing, relief, and fear—too complicated for one word and too real to ignore.
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An unfinished sentence becomes a declaration of everything survival, grief, motherhood, and becoming have made her.
