Persephone Blooming

I didn’t disappear—

I dissolved, slowly,

Inside a body that rewrote itself

Without asking permission.

Every mirror became a stranger.

The body I lived in was still mine—

But it had become unfamiliar.

It shifted and swelled,

Not by choice,

But because something inside me worked against itself.

Hormones I never agreed to

Whispered quiet sabotage,

And my skin listened.

No one said it aloud.

They never do.

But their silence was loud—

Their stares,

The way one relative flinched,

Like she’d seen something wrong,

Something shameful.

So I shrank from the world,

Not in size,

But in presence.

Hid behind “I’m tired” and closed doors

Because shame is quieter than rage.

But Persephone didn’t stay buried.

She bloomed in the underworld—

Soft rage in her roots,

A crown of wilted things

She made holy again.

She wasn’t just stolen—

She carved a kingdom from her ache.

Now, I return to myself—

Not chasing pretty, or thin,

But strength that hums beneath effort.

I build this body into a home.

I rebuild—for me,

So I can like myself when I look in the mirror.

-CalciferWrites