Hearth Silk Embers

 I did not step into the light loudly.

I came the way warmth does after pressure

quiet, earned,

still carrying the memory of what tried to break me down

into something useful for everyone else.

I have been pressed before.

Held under weight long enough

that healing had to learn how to live inside me,

not on my surface.

That is why what settles into me now sinks deep

repairing what was stretched too far,

what learned to split silently

so others could remain comfortable.

I have worn many shoes.

Some rubbed skin raw.

Some were never meant for me,

but I walked in them anyway.

So no—

I do not stand above anyone.

I stand aware,

grounded in the knowledge of what endurance actually costs.

There was a time sweetness came too early.

I offered it before the dark had finished its work.

I mistook softness for safety,

access for love.

But depth takes time,

and warmth that lasts is not loud

it lingers,

carrying heat without spectacle.

Beneath my gentleness lives a bitterness

that tells the truth.

Not cruelty.

Not hardness.

The kind that anchors,

that keeps everything from drifting apart

when the world asks you to be lighter than your own weight.

My grounding runs downward.

While others reached for light,

I learned to root.

Not to disappear,

but to stay.

To hold presence instead of performance.

If you cannot meet me where I am rooted,

you will call this distance

even though it is stability.

There was a time I allowed too much.

Hands crossed lines because I blurred them.

Voices nested in my quiet

because I called it humility.

But heat leaves memory,

and smoke teaches discernment..

where warmth belongs

and where it must never return.

Now I hold my warmth the way embers do..

contained,

intentional,

no longer setting myself on fire

to keep others from feeling the cold.

Some think I have gone cold.

They are wrong.

I have gone sealed.

Patience returned to my body

the way richness returns moisture

not for display,

but for survival.

Outgrowing people feels like shedding.

Skin slipping away tender and necessary.

A grief you carry quietly

because the renewal is already underway.

You prepared for it,

and still it surprises you.

Dreams arrive wearing doors.

Goals stop begging

and start opening.

I wish I could share this warmth

with everyone I’ve known.

But some only recognize the version of me

that stayed cracked

so they could step inside.

This is the story Jehovah intended..

not louder,

not elevated,

but aligned.

Hearth warm.

Silk embers held.

Light carried forward by embers

that chose not to go out.