bared to the flames

I peel the layers slowly,
not for eyes that judge,
but for truth to take root.
Each button undone
bares the weight of my stories,
scars glinting in the half-light,
like maps of battles fought
and survived.

Threads fall like whispered secrets,
freeing the quiet I’ve carried too long.
Each stitch undone
reclaims a part of me
I thought was gone.

I strip with dignity—
not for hands that take,
but for the air
to cradle my softness,
to honour the edges I’ve earned.

These scars are not shame;
they are scripture,
written in fire and healing,
breaking the chains of what was,
what is,
what will be.

This is how I love,
how I rage,
how I rise—
not broken,
not diminished,
but bare,
an inferno untamed,
burning the bridges beneath my feet,
marking the ground
with every step I take.

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