My Body, My Cross

I've carried ghosts beneath my skin. Their whispers carved the shape I'm in.

Every scar, a prayer I keep. Every breath, a wound that

speaks. They told me pain could make me pure. That love should

hurt to feel secure. But I have learned a truer grace,

that flesh remembers every face. No savior's hands, no holy cost. Just what I

found and what I lost. My body, my cross.

I bleed to be alive. Every bruise a sign that I survived.

My cross, forged in fire and grace, I found my heaven in this