The Body That Remembers You

These words turn toward the quiet places in you.

The ones that have been carrying more than you let the world see.

The ones that learn to stay silent so you could stay safe.

Your body remembers you,

Even on the days you do not remember yourself.

It remembers every room that asked too much.

Every moment you held your breath to keep the peace.

Every time your ribs tighten to hold what your voice could not say.

It holds your history without judgment.

Your softness without apology.

Your truth without needing permission.

The body never lies,

It speaks through tension.

Through warmth,

Through the quiet ache beneath your sternum.

Through the way your shoulders rise before the mind catches up.

There is nothing wrong with you,

Nothing broken,

Nothing behind.

Your body is simply honest.

And honesty can feel like fear when you have been taught to abandon yourself.

So these words turn towards you gently.

Toward the pulse beneath your palm.

Toward the breath that wants more space.

Toward the self who is ready to return slowly,

Softly,

On her own terms.