Scars are only ugly until they’re filled in with fire and gold.
I like to think when I’m at a moment of change that my physical body, the armor I wore to protect my wounded heart starts to burn with the female of a dying Phoenix, and once all the old has been burnt to dust, what’s left is a heart of opal, a thousand beautiful colors woven into the truth of who I am.
I am not my broken pieces. I am not defined by those that do not believe in me. I am all that with all my dreams. All the memories and the laughs and the exquisite, torturously beautiful moments that take up a single breath. Times that by a million, billion breaths …
I am nothing less than perfect.
Author’s Note: These words came to me tonight as I was getting ready for bed. They are untouched and unedited, so forgive any imperfections. I hope you enjoyed it, as short as it was. Thanks for reading. 🙂