light dims,
slowly folding into shadow
as peace slips quietly away,
while i’m distracted
by the shadows
i shouldn’t follow.

the streetlights guide me;
bright,
clear,
showing the way home.

but i only look up.
always,
for stars
that won’t
come down.

i watch the faithful kneel,
  their eyes soft with trust,
  like they’ve found the answer
  to everything.
  i search for that peace.
a cross resting
  close to their chest,
  as if God lives right there,
  in the space beneath their ribs.

i wonder;
could i hold
a god in my heart
the way they do? —
strong, unshaken,
a savior,
to hold me,
when i forget how to stand.

i wonder if the light
they pray to
could ever find its way
    through the darkness
       of my sinful heart.
maybe one day.

the storm came,
it always does.
but you—
you were the anchor.
    you kept me from sinking,
      from pulling into the depths
       of my own turmoil.

                       sometimes, i float
                 in the noise of everything,
             but i always come back to you.
         your stillness pulls me in,
      like the tide always pulls
         the shore.

i had never known
how integral silence could be
until you made it feel safe.
how steady peace could be,
how the weight of your presence,
tethers me to the surface,
  keeping me from
    floating away
      and losing myself
         in the storm

rooted in ash,
with wildfire
quietly burning
beneath soft petals

a rose set alight,
with leaves
  that never begged
   for rain

a quiet kind of burning
that never asked
  to be put out

some passersby
picked the flower,
held her,
tried to care

some passersby
picked her
only to
give her away

but many walked
right over her
as if she were
just an empty flowerbed

as if she weren’t
a pretty flower
as if they didn’t see
the thorns
      or know that petals bruise
      when held too hard

as if softness
was made to be claimed
    not protected

still,
she learned
how to bloom

she stood upright
in cracked earth
with broken stems
and blistered leaves

with fire
in her roots
with ashes
in her veins

reaching
always
for the light

she knew
some blooms open
only in harsh sun
some roots
push through broken ground
just to feel it

there were nights
she curled inward
like a rose
in frost

still,
she rose.

because some flowers still bloom
         in places no one believed
               anything could grow

and now
   she is blooming
     not despite the wildfire
     but because of it

i don’t have a bruise
not now
but my skin remembers

because once,
it rooted itself there
  dark and sudden
   from nothing at all

or maybe something small
  that shouldn’t have hurt
   but did

and since then
i’ve learned
  not all pain
   leaves a mark
    but it lingers
     just the same

now i know
that pain doesn’t always
  ask permission
   and not all wounds
    warn you first

but now
i freeze

before hands even reach
before words even fall
  like muscle memory
   but for fear

and now
i tense
when i shouldn’t

i flinch
before anything happens

i wait
for the hit
even when no one’s swinging

because once,
he came without warning
  and now
   my body remembers
    even when my mind
     tries to forget

because once
was enough.

no harm
just shadows
  and the ache
   of almost

because healing
was never
watching the bruise fade
it was learning
that the skin can clear
and still wince
at nothing

still twitch
at the memory
of blue

still ache
where there is no mark

just learning
how to live
  with the fear
   of it all
    returning

i flinch
at nothing

because once
there was something
and it stayed

i hold still
for what might not come

i tense
for what might not come

because it once did
   and that was
enough.

i used to call it comfort
the way i reached for
a green that didn’t grow anything
     just softened the edges
     and blurred the ache

until fullness
     felt empty

        until the chaos
drowned itself in silence

       until even the storm
learnt to whisper

until emptiness
                felt full

i didn’t call it
escape
not then
just quiet
just something
to get through the day

but even quiet
can rot the roots

i stayed in that winter
   longer than i needed to
     numbed the ache
   until i forgot
     what it was like
   to feel anything grow

but now
green
means something else

it means rebirth,
life
pushing through
thin cracks
in dry ground

it means i don’t run
when the light comes in

that i can sit still
without reaching for a way out

that something in me
is waking up
and wants to stay