You were not born small…

You were taught to fold,

to dim your ember hands;

to hush the thunder in your throat,

to call your knowing coincidence

and your intuition overthinking.

But there is a key

sleeping beneath your ribs.

This is not escape..

it is remembrance.

It is the slow untying

of everything cast against your becoming.

Here, we light candles

not to beg the dark for mercy;

but to see ourselves more clearly.

We stir herbs into tea

like we are steeping courage.

We trace sigils

in the margins of old stories;

and rewrite them with our own names.

Your shadow is not your enemy,

it is the doorway.

Your fear is not a warning,

it is a threshold.

Step barefoot into your power.

Let the moon witness you.

Let the earth steady you.

Let your voice rise, unsilenced.

You are not learning magic.

You are remembering

that you have always been the spell