Reflections

In the mirror of light and hunger, she smiles.
She is above danger — untouched, unwavering.
Beneath her, the dark stirs and remembers its teeth,
but she grows flowers instead of blooded wounds.

From her chest — where others bore nails —
springs a quiet bloom,
a sanctity born of transformation, not pain.
Her hair, her light, her circle — all align into a cross of becoming.

She stands where divinity meets reflection,
where danger ripples beneath devotion,
and beauty is no longer the opposite of survival.