photo by Jupp

my own truth I need
to voice. to not burn alive
I must muster strength

if swallowed it burns
as scorching coals in my throat
flee I must, or else

my daughter, only
seven years of age asks for
what would have remained

hidden in tangled
frustration, amplified by
past years of silence.

she places a red
rock in the palm of my hand
‘you need snuggles, mom’

I allow myself
to receive her love, so vast.
safe at last I speak