10/30/2025
I carried more than flesh,
I carried years —
of hiding behind laughter,
of shrinking dreams,
of mirrors turned to walls.
A choice was not surrender,
but a quiet kind of war —
a promise whispered to myself:
I will not live half-lived anymore.
The surgeon’s light became a dawn,
steel and skill meeting faith and fear.
In that room,
my body became a story rewritten —
a second birth through pain and healing tears.
Each sip, each step,
a prayer in motion.
Scars, small as commas,
but they pause my past —
not end it.
Now I watch my reflection
not as an enemy,
but as a traveler
learning the shape of freedom,
the weight of becoming light.
And in this new skin,
I learn again:
the body was never the cage —
only the beginning
of flight.
