I haven’t self-harmed in six weeks,

and it’s awakened possibility in softer edges.

I let the day in,

and the sun seeps into my scars,

inviting me to welcome my wounds

and tend my tears.

Awe comes upon me—

a decision more often than not—

and it is enough to know

tomorrow brings another day.

I’ll search for new skies, but take comfort

in knowing I need not reach a destination.

For we have enough burdens here.

These days, and everything inside them,

create room to reassert vitality, to recommit to life

in the face of all that is broken,

one shining eye at a time.

And isn’t that everything?

Doesn’t that feel like dancing under the glow of the moon?