in the aftermath of what consumes you,
listen to the silence.
take comfort in the moths that still hold onto
the light, regardless of the fire that burns.
praise every dark room you are leaving,
despite everything that made you stay.
praise every day that has followed since,
and know you have not turned your back on the life
you have promised yourself.
praise all the wasted time: of you trying
to fit inside the ocean, making a home
out of a body that swallows,
naming rivers after trauma
only to feel their salt-song sting,
you are not the body beneath them,
nor the one who put it there.
you are not at fault for the hands
that have only hindered in their holding.
you are not at fault for all the ways
you have come undone.
praise the morning light and the longest
night. praise the steps it took, the hands that held
and the body that still holds.
praise all the girls inside of me:
the ones not worth saving, the ones
who thought she’d never make it this far.
I will carry their weight inside of me;
not like ghosts, but like songs.
I will sing this survival
until it is no longer a haunting.
I will sing this survival,
until it is not survival anymore.
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