The Myth Of The Grieving Girl

They said my grief was ruin,

but they didn’t know that I was descended from the kind of women who turned heartbreak into constellations.

I walked through loss like a lone figure crossing a desert of broken time,

each tear falling and hardening into glass crystals

the Gods would later use to read the future.

They mistook my silence for shattering,

not knowing that I had entered the underworld to retrieve the parts of myself I once left behind.

Every wound of mine became a doorway.

Every sorrow, a spell.

Every empty place in me grew teeth and learned to protect what mattered.

By the time I rose, I was no longer the girl who begged the world to make her whole.

I was the myth,

the one who walked through all that darkness and came back carrying her own light.