the words etched on my skin
are more than ink and lines
they are whispers of who I’ve been
and who I am becoming
they curl around my wrist
like a quiet promise
stretch down my spine
like secrets only I understand
each one is a memory
a truth I carry close
they are the parts of me
I can’t speak aloud
the parts I need to remember
when I often forget
when the world feels too heavy
I run my fingers over them
tracing the stories
that live beneath the surface
and find a quiet strength
in their permanence