My wrists wear the same soft skin
As my smiling cheeks.
The only wounds they bear are healing scars.

My tears are of laughter and love.
My lips remember what it's like
To be free to be happy.

My eyes look in mirrors and see
An array of imperfections,
But my mind doesn't wish to change any of them.

My heart is no longer broken,
It needs nothing but a pulse
To feel loved.

My body is healing.
The shrivelled flowers fade as new buds bloom in my hair.

I am happy.
The icicles on my eyelashes melt, glistening on their way down my cheekbones.

The battle is won.
The worst is over.

Happiness has found its way back
Into my life.

- p. winter