Rebuilt Myself

I broke down,
shattered in ways I didn’t see coming,
lost pieces scattered in the storm.

But from that wreckage,
I started to rebuild.

Not with rushing hands,
but slow, careful steps.
Brick by brick, breath by breath.

I learned to listen to the cracks,
to honor the scars,
to accept that some things
won’t ever be the same.

I found strength in the quiet,
in moments alone,
where I faced my reflection without fear.

Rebuilt doesn’t mean perfect.
It means showing up again and again,
choosing to stand, choosing to heal.

I am still a work in progress,
a sculpture shaped by fire and patience.
Stronger in some places, fragile in others—
but fully, unmistakably me.

And that is enough.

Blessed