?Trigger Warning: Self-Harm
The girl in my head tells me to be tender with the skin I was given, to sculpt it into the body I have always wanted. I have never felt at home in the bones I have grown. I am the echo at the end of the tunnel, a voice calling back to what was. I want to grow a garden out of what rots, I tell her. I want to cultivate my heart and feel every root grow. I want to become in the bloom of what hurts, what heals, where I feel at home. But I treat my body like a curse. I walk all over it with dirty boots. I open my wounds with the kitchen knife. I skip stones in the pit of my throat and feel the body sink. The girl in my head tells me, there is still love to be shed. One day, I will believe her. One day, I will house her into a home that is not a storm in its reckoning. I will let go of every salt-song I sing. I will let go of every ghost that haunts, and it will not feel like regret but release. The girl in my head tells me to be tender with the skin I was given, and I begin by opening every window of my heart and learning not to be afraid of what enters it.
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