Blood Stains and All

It will cut you open—
not softly,
not kindly,
but in ways
you never saw coming.

Let yourself bleed.

Let it spill—
the hurt,
the anger,
the regret,
the confusion
you’ve kept buried
in the back rooms of your soul.

Let it pour
from the shadows you swore
you’d never name.

Because sometimes the truth doesn’t arrive clean.
It crawls in,
stained and shaking,
with blood on its hands
and your name on its lips.

You don’t get to choose
the shape of healing.
Only whether or not
you’ll face it.

So grip the mess.
Hold the ache.
Feel the drip—
the sting—
the story
that lives in your scars.

Integrity isn’t neat.
It’s raw.
It’s real.
It’s yours.

Bloodstains and all