Wounded Feminine

I am the child of both—the wounded feminine,
The scarred masculine; two sides etched in pain,
Bound in a dance where darkness clings,
To the marrow of my being, carved in silent strain.

Battles rage beneath my skin, where shadows coil,
My Hydra heart, a Cancer Moon’s tide,
Swollen with secrets it can barely contain,
Each head I cut, another ten arise.

I tried to soothe one wound,
Only to find another seeping through the cracks,
The more I see, the less I know,
This maze is endless, and the map fades black.

Glimpses of wisdom glow like dying stars,
Too distant to light my path, but there, still—
A fleeting touch, a whisper of what could be,
Yet I stumble through this cavernous will.

The darkness spoke with a voice I feared,
But in the echoes, I felt a distant fire’s grace,
A light at the cave’s end, faint but true,
And still, I wander, lost in this twisting place.

For every step forward, the maze shifts anew,
Its walls breathing, alive in my descent,
Yet I push on, seeking a truth,
A home in the wounded, where all paths have bent.

I am healing, though slowly, unravelling the chains,
But even as light flickers, my shadows remain.
Still, I walk forward, step by step, breath by breath,
Carrying both darkness and dawn in my chest.

For the wounds may linger, but so does the fire,
A quiet blaze that grows, refusing to tire.
And though I may never fully shed the night,
I am learning to carry both the wound and the light.