He Got My Body, But Never Carried My Soul
A truth I needed to speak — not for revenge, but for release.
He touched me. But he never held me.
He got my body — the same body that carried grief, carried babies, carried burdens I never spoke out loud.
But he never carried my soul. He never could.
Because to carry someone’s soul, you have to listen to them. See them. Love them enough to hold them when they’re shaking — not just when they’re naked.
And he didn’t.
What he wanted was access.
To my softness.
To my silence.
To the part of me that still believed maybe, just maybe, someone could see the mess and still stay.
But he didn’t want to stay.
He wanted comfort. He wanted a body.
He didn’t care what it cost me — emotionally, spiritually, or even physically.
I remember what it felt like to give myself while crying inside.
To feel like I had to give something away to keep from breaking down completely.
To be touched on the outside while screaming for someone to hold me on the inside.
I gave him what he wanted…
But I was not there.
My soul had already backed away. My spirit was already gathering its bags.
This is what I know now:
There is a difference between being desired and being cherished.
Desire will consume you.
Cherishing will cover you.
One takes.
The other holds.
And he wasn’t capable of holding me.
He got my body — but he never carried my soul.
That soul was busy praying for freedom.
That soul was wrapped in the arms of the God who kept me alive when I didn’t know how to save myself.
I’m not ashamed anymore.
Because I know who I am.
And I know what I’ll never give away again just to feel close to someone who can’t even see me.
He got my body. But he will never be able to say he knew my soul.
That is mine. That is sacred. That is not for sale.
I am not broken — I am rebuilt.
Not ashamed — but awakened.
Not used — but rising.
And this time, I’m not giving away anything that doesn’t return to me with love, honor, and soul.
With truth,
Elnoro Perrilla Shanta Winston
Still whole. Still sacred. Still standing.
