It was her holy place.
She was still insecure but, she found some courage to admire the beauty of it. Her insecurities did not make her weak. But instead, they kept masking her up in fabricated personalities and ripping them off. She wondered if she could cut some parts off of her with some scissors? If the violent rains would bring a bit of rainbow? If she was clinging to an idea or making more mistakes and if she knew the blood that flowed in her veins?
It was still her holy place.
But the unknown of its value, it’s meaning and it’s purpose. Every time it shattered into a thousand pieces, by someone who wanted to conquer. But she kept building it back piece by piece, memories by memories, and her will to build through it.
The tears of fears, the blood that was wasted on her repentance, the pits she fell in and all the regrets that made her heart heavy, made the place chaotic and undesirable. Still weak in knees, she dragged herself into a commitment.
Where the hair on her body stood to salute her, where she cherished, she worshipped, she admired and she loved her soul, her body; her holy place.