Scars That Bloom

I used to hide the broken parts of me,
tuck them deep where no one else could see.
But wounds don't heal in the dark, I found —
they grow in silence, underground.

So here I stand, unstitched, unsealed,
no longer begging to be healed.
My scars don't make me less than whole —
they are the windows of my soul.

And look — where the deepest cut had been,
something green is pushing through the skin.
The pain was never meant to stay;
it only came to light the way.

So if you're broken, friend, be still —
even shattered things can bloom at will.

For everyone healing quietly — this one's for you. 🌅