Ashes In My Pocket, Light In My Eyes

I am becoming

a mosaic

of every cracked moment that tried to shatter me.

I was born into chaos

where silence meant tension,

and love had conditions it never spoke aloud.

A house full of voices,

none of them listening.

A home that held walls, but no warmth.

I grew up learning how to be small in loud rooms,

How to disappear without leaving.

I’ve known heartbreak

that split me open so wide

I thought the wind might live in me forever.

I’ve kissed people

who tasted like promises they never meant to keep.

And still,

I kept showing up

like maybe this time someone would mean it.

Then came the illness

the word that changes everything.

Cancer.

A thief in my body,

a war I never enlisted for.

I smiled while the inside of me cracked

under the weight of doctor’s notes and stifled cries into hospital pillows.

I wore bravery like a costume.

Said, “I’m fine,” like it was a prayer

I hoped might one day be true.

I have drowned in invisible oceans.

Tasted salt in the back of my throat

from all the tears I swallowed instead of screamed.

There were nights I couldn’t tell if the darkness was outside me or inside me.

Nights I held on,

not because I believed in morning,

but because I didn’t know how to let go.

And still,

I stayed.

God, I stayed.

Through the storms and the surgeries,

the betrayals and the breaking,

the empty kitchens and echoing bedrooms.

I stayed.

And somewhere in all that ruin, I grew.

Now, I am becoming a woman who loves herself out loud.

Who names her needs without shame.

Who walks through fire not to prove she’s strong,

but to remind herself she’s still alive.

I am becoming soft, and still sharp.

Grateful, and still grieving.

Wounded, and still worthy.

This is not a comeback story.

This is a becoming story.

I am still learning how to breathe in full lungfuls,

how to unclench my hands,

how to believe that light doesn’t always leave.

So if you see me now

know this,

I am not who I was.

And thank God, I am not done yet.