What the dark made of me

<p>There are wounds the light will never understand.</p><p>So she learned to live in the dark; to embrace her shadows and call them by name to cradle her grief until it began to sing.</p><p>What the Dark Made of Me is not just poetry.</p><p>It is resurrection in verses;</p><p>the sound of a woman remembering herself after the silence.</p><p>These poems bleed loss and tenderness fire and faith</p><p>grief and the strange holy beauty of surviving.</p><p>Every line is a scar that learned how to speak every stanza a fragment of a life rebuilt from ruin.</p><p>This is not about escape.</p><p>It's about what happens when the darkness does not end; and you learn to call it home.</p><p></p>