Angel Kisses

My birthmarks

are angel kisses—

soft seals

from the other side.

I carry two:

one bold,

one shy.

Not blemishes,

but cosmic signs.

One stretches wide

like wings in flight.

The other hums

a sacred tune.

Each mark

a whisper from the past,

a kiss

beneath a crescent moon.

They say

I’ve been kissed twice—

twice blessed,

twice chosen.

Not by chance,

but by design.

A lineage crackling,

now awoken.

My ancestors called—

not with fear,

but with fire

in their sacred bones.

They chose me

to bear the torch,

to break the chains,

to bring us home.

I don’t flinch

beneath the weight,

for I was molded

in divine clay.

Honored by

the spirit’s love

to lead our blood

a freer way.

These marks—

they sing.

They pulse.

They glow.

Odd-shaped, yes,

but beauty made.

Proof that angels

touched this skin

and ancestors paved

this sacred way.

So I answer—

feet grounded,

heart loud.

Their call

through thunder,

dream, and drum.

I am kissed.

I am claimed.

I am called.

And beloved—

I have come.