There are wounds the light will never understand.

So she learned to live in the dark; to embrace her shadows, and call them by name to cradle her grief until it began to sing.

"What the Dark Made of Me" is not just poetry.

It is resurrection in verses;

the sound of a woman remembering herself after the silence.

These poems bleed loss and tenderness, fire and faith,

grief and the strange, holy beauty of surviving.

Every line is a scar that learned how to speak, every stanza a fragment of a life rebuilt from ruin.

This is not about escape.

It's about what happens when the darkness does not end; and you learn to call it home.