every time you survived, your shadow took…

21 hrs ago

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.

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