Even my scars have begun to dance.
Stretchies dug into my arms and waist, carved
a river from top to bottom,
parting pathways to joy.
I’ve held insecurities
long enough to name them:
alive, magical, unicorn horns leaping across my chest and spinning into my stomach.
Now my scars dance
across the page-
inking a love letter to me
Newsletter: sign up for my NiqueNotes, my newsletter on how I was able to heal from trauma and define my identity to find joy within
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