A Thousand Cuts
Like ancient rivers carved in stone,
These marks tell tales of storms now flown,
Of battles fought when night was long,
Of learning, slowly, to belong.
These faded paths upon my skin
Speak not of where I've fallen, but where I've been—
Each one a chapter, not an end,
A reminder of my power to mend.
They whisper now of distant days,
Of how we grow in countless ways,
These badges of a warrior's heart
Who chose to stay, to make a new start.
Copyright © Oliver Henry | Year Posted 2024
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