ruins were all i was when they found me,
shattered, hollow, a ghost in my own skin.
yet they, gathered every broken piece,
cupped them in their hands like something sacred
and whispered, "you are still whole."
they did not walk away from my darkness,
but walked into it.
with lanterns in their chests,
lighting the way that blinded me.

they, did not fear the storm in my ribs.
instead, they stood
with arms open, voices steady,
teaching me that love does not destroy.
held me even when the mirror turned away,
and when the world unstitched me,
they, gathered the thread
and stitched light into my frayed edges.
they became gravity when i was weightless,
watching as i found my feet again.

family doesn’t stain with blood
but is inked in the hands that hold you
when you’ve forgotten how to stand.