ex animo

I wrote here, in the raw now. I rose like the phoenix, burned down to bones and rebuilt in my own way. I remembered what it felt like to be in my element, no longer shrinking to make others comfortable. I honored the rise—not the clean, linear one, but the jagged, earned ascent. I let my voice become the wind behind bird set free. I allowed the quiet moments to whisper, yes—this is beautiful, even when I doubted it. I moved through friction for all, where truth scraped against expectation. I survived storm szn, when everything familiar fell apart. I held the truth I now carry like armor, but made of softness, not steel. I declared, let’s f*cking grow, knowing the process would ask everything of me. I whispered, let me explain myself, not to be understood, but to finally hear myself clearly. Each poem is a fragment, acatalyst, a record of my reclaiming. I realized I don’t owe anyone my availability... peace, presence, pace, or even my poetry. I let them whisper, let them call it intimidating, and decided that didn’t mean I had to shrink. I reminded myself that there is no more time to play small or delay the return home to myself. I protected what mattered—because my peace is not someone else’s emergency room. I stopped resisting and remembered that surrender is a power move. I faced shadows & mirrors and refused to look away. I am choosing abundance, not scarcity. I anchored into the knowing that what I want wants me back—but only when I stop pretending I don’t want it. In the end, I gave myself permission to rewrite it all.