phoenixresurrection

I have told my secrets through loves ink - painted them to my skin with watercolor defiance. & writers, we sometimes write about our scars in riddles, layers upon layers of thought, - care for them like flowers growing on the warlands of our bodies. Worthy, we give them faces, we give them names, we give them gravestones. We kill them off in our stories, make them villains, make them heroes. I have wrists that roar, & I will be damned if I don’t let them tell their stories.