Fire and Sun
I didn’t come here to soften your edges
or drape a shawl over your sharp words.
I came to stand where the fire of my own lungs
meets the wind of the world.
I am not a shadow cast by your doubt,
nor a whisper held captive by fear.
My body remembers how to rise from storms,
how to plant roots in rebellion,
how to claim a space that no one can auction off.
You can hiss, you can snap,
build walls as high as castles-
but I am the storm that refuses to break,
the earth that stands rooted and unshaken.
My laughter is a riot of colors,
my dreams, a woven chain of stars I own.
No, I will not dim my light for approval-
I am the sun, and I burn for myself alone.
We are not mirrors for your approval,
not ornaments for your gaze.
The curve of our spines,
the tilt of our heads,
the flare of our laughter-
belongs to us alone.
We will not apologize for joy,
for the tremble of our hands in triumph,
for the song that spills from our throats
without permission.
If I ever hold a daughter,
I’ll tell her this:
the world will try to weigh her down,
but she will carry herself like the sun,
and the sun will rise for her, always,
And when the night seeks to drown our fire,
we will ignite brighter,
for we are the dawn that refuses to fade.
Our spirit, unbreakable,
will forever blaze with the power of the sun
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