These veins,
they bleed stories of survival.
My wounds do not weep;
they harden.
I will not tear open the scars
that prove I have healed.
I will collect them,
for they are my stories to tell.
They keep my heart soft
and let my soul triumph.
All the grief that swallows us whole is pooling over the edges and bleeding into everything; changing the shape of what it touches.
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