The Shape of Healing

Hearts don’t fix in perfect lines—
they curve, twist, and break again
before the light finally enters.
I walked a crooked path
hoping the pain would forget my name,
but it walked beside me like an old friend.
Yet somewhere between the cracks,
I grew wings made of the hurt.
Healing wasn’t straight,
but it took me higher
to places I never saw.
But it hit me like a roar,
drove me away from where I was,
for I am afraid of the worst—
But the worst is now nursed.