sanctuary

This collection contains themes of sexual trauma, childhood abuse, grief, death of a parent, loss of innocence, and emotional violence. Some poems explore the body in survival, the memory of harm, and the aftermath of silence.

These pieces are written from a place of truth and reclamation.
They may stir deep memory, rage, or grief.

This is a place for all that didn’t have a place before.

For the heat you were told to hide.
For the softness you had to earn.
For the becoming you’re still trying to name.

We begin with rage—not the kind that burns everything down,
but the kind that finally says enough.
The kind that protects what’s sacred inside you.
That refuses silence when harm has been done.
It’s not wild, it’s precise.
A boundary spoken out loud.

Then comes grace—not a reward, not performance,
but the breath after the breaking.
The steady return to yourself.
It doesn’t erase what happened.
It simply lets you keep living.

And from there, becoming—
not a destination, but a movement.
A slow shedding. A quiet unfolding.
A rising from all the versions you had to be
just to survive.

This is the Sanctuary.
A place for your edges.
Your softness.
Your change.
Come as you are.
You don’t have to earn your place here.

This is where the raw lives. Where the poem is still bleeding. Stitched from survival, not polish. The Sanctuary is not for spectacle—it is for resurrection. Each word is a wound made visible. Each piece is a breath given back. The fig’s presence here is symbolic—a bleeding fruit, whole yet opened, soft and bruised with grace.