Dragon Beneath
I wake each day in borrowed flesh, a cage of bone, too soft, too small. The mirror shows me human lines, but none of them are mine at all.
Beneath my skin, the fire stirs, a heartbeat older, fierce, untamed. I feel the shadow of my wings though no one else can see their frame.
My hands reach out but find no claws, my voice holds back a thundered roar. I pace within this brittle shell, remembering scales I should have worn.
The world calls me “only human,” yet I know that’s not my name. I am dragon, bound in silence, longing to be whole again.

















