Growing Flowers from the Wounds

I am every jagged edge of rock waiting to be climbed; to see what’s beyond.

Climbing

The same softness of a human can be found in a tree.

The photons call out in desperation, for the body to pay attention.

What does my face look like when I cry? Un-pretty, swollen blood red eyes.

Their presence attracts chaotic relationships, revealing hidden truths and fostering eventual healing amidst emotional turmoil.

Empath; this solitary epitaph, words come lucid, swept on tides, murky.

and that was the day she stopped speaking, abruptly, out of the blue; without warning.

Reflecting a journey into inner struggles, confronting memories and pain, and embracing healing through self-understanding and deep listening.