WiltedVerses ✒️🎀

they say god works in mysterious ways.

maybe that’s what the surgeon was—

a prophet with a scalpel,

preaching mercy through removal.

they tell me i’m healed,

but my body whispers otherwise.

it remembers blood and begging,

the hush of anesthesia,

the slow unmaking of a woman.

i used to pray for children.

now i light candles for the parts of me

they took in the name of salvation.

my womb, my faith, my softness—

all laid out on a stainless-steel altar.

the doctors called it surgery.

i call it exorcism.

they carved out the fever

but left the haunting behind.

sometimes i swear i hear a heartbeat

in my dreams—

something small, something mine,

trapped in the dark,

asking why i didn’t save it.

in another life,

i was meant to be a mother.

in this one,