every time you survived, your shadow took notes. i’m just translating.

this past week,
over 70 of you asked me
to climb inside your heart and write
what it’s been too tender to say
out loud.
not to write pretty,
but to translate the shiver
beneath your skin
by asking questions
your mouth can’t form
but your body’s been dying to scream.
questions like these:

what belief did you have to kill
to become who you are today?

who did you have to disappoint
to stop betraying yourself?

what version of love did you have to unlearn
so you could stop calling codependency
a soulmate?

what gospel did you have to burn
to feel holy in your own skin?

what story did you stop reading
so you could become the author?

what lie did you let rot in your mouth
so your voice could finally sound like your own?

what part of yourself did you have to bury
just to learn how to breathe again?

what old version of you
had to be loved enough to die?

what was the first thing you ever lied about
because the truth felt too dirty
for this sterilized society?

what ache are you loyal to?
the one you tell people you’re over
but still masturbate to in the backseat
of your own memories?

what’s the most beautiful thing
you’ve ever done with your ache?
don’t say survive.
i know you’re good at that.
i mean:
did you paint with it?
did you fuck like it was your last breath?
did you let it teach you how to pray
with the part of you who forgot
how to believe?

what would happen
if someone didn’t try to fix you,
but just fucking listened?
not to your voice.
to the earthquake behind it.
the childhood scream
still stuck in your pillow.
the way your hands flinch
when love stays too long
after you tell the truth.
yeah. what if someone kissed you there?

if your wounds could write love letters,
what would they say?

tell me what fantasy you had to fuck,
break up with,
and finally bury naked in the woods
so you could make love to reality
without needing her to be perfect.

when you say yes
to a personal poem from me,
just know you’re not hiring a writer.
you’re inviting a lover,
a witness,
a midwife
to the thing inside you
that’s still crowning.
ready to be born
in bold.

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comment below.