…and my wounds are holy

My scars are sacred
and my wounds are holy
carved deep
within my skin
I still carry them
everywhere
the proof of my survival
we all have shadows
that we cannot see
easily broken
but not easily healed
each break I endured
has become a rune

my hope renewed
by ancient spells
spoken without sound
I had asked for nothing
but to be seen
to be adored by eyes
unafraid of the night
but in time I learned
your real intent
I learned to name it
in my silence
and to never look away

some part of you
still lives in me
where your memory
still dares to hide
but I now I hope
and now I dream
that your nightmares
know my name
I still feel you
I know that you
are out there
still lingering in the dark

and when the clouds
obscure the moon
it is not the darkness
that reminds me
but the understanding
that light arrives
gently, slowly
in broken fragments
yet whole in meaning
each sorrowful memory
a scripture of resilience

I am no martyr
I didn’t ask for pain
but I turned it
into something
that now glows
beneath my skin
there is a temple
inside me now
built from everything
that tried to break me
but ultimately failed

and although
I am a quiet soul
make no mistake
my silence is sacred
a choice, a vow
for not everything
that ever bleeds
must be buried
in the dark
some wounds
are meant to shine
becoming cathedrals
in our souls
© Ann Bagnall