I plant seeds in the soil of my soul,
Water them with tears I never wanted to cry.
Some days, nothing grows.
Some days, weeds of doubt cover everything.
But I keep tending.
I’ve learned healing is not a sunrise
That appears in an instant,
It is a slow light that crawls
Over the edges of my darkest nights.
Some days, I walk backward into old wounds,
Bleeding from scars I thought were closed.
And yet—
Each time I return, I find more courage in my hands
Than I had before.
Healing taught me
That even a cracked heart can still beat with purpose,
That even a tired mind can still dream,
That even if the journey is slow,
It is still movement.
I am not late.
I am not weak.
I am a living testament
That time does not erase pain—
It transforms it into strength.
And one day,
When the garden inside me is finally green,
I will smile at the memory of the barren days
Because I will know:
The wait was worth it.
Editor’s note: An earlier version of this piece had the incorrect poem attached to Musesambili’s work.