"I Carry Fire in My Bones"

they called it weakness—

the way I trembled,

the way I paused mid-battle

just to breathe.

but they never saw the quiet blaze

inside my chest

refusing to be snuffed out.

.

it has wept in locked rooms

and stood tall in crowds

that never knew

what it cost me

to show up.

it has trembled in grief,

tightened in fear,

collapsed on floors

with no one near—

and still,

it rises

like something ancient

that refuses to die.

.

i have thrown hate at it

like stones

when mirrors became prisons.

called it unworthy,

too much,

not enough.

and yet—

each morning

it greets me,

steady heartbeat,

a loyal thrum of “we’re not done.”

.

the scars?

they are glyphs,

tales inked in flesh

by battles survived

and boundaries carved.

each freckle, a universe.

each line, a map.

this body,

a shrine

that holds the sacred

and the shattered

together in one flame.

.

people will gawk.

they will label.

they will never know

the wars you’ve won

just by walking

one more mile

in your own skin.

so bless the breath.

bless the bruise.

bless the ache.

bless the breath again.

this body is not a cage.

it is a compass,

and you are still traveling.