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. 🌅