08/19/2026
She calls back her power
not as a plea,
but as a vow spoken to stone
with breath that will not break.
Mountains rise in her chest,
granite-thick and unshaking,
their ancient patience teaching her
how to stand through weather and doubt.
From the depth of her being
a drum wakes without permission—
a heartbeat that remembers,
a voice that does not negotiate.
She lifts her chin like a storm front,
let the wind witness her becoming.
Let the dark learn her name
the hard way—by staying unanswered.
I will not shrink.
I will not bow.
Like ridge after ridge,
she holds her ground and calls it home.
Cedar smoke in her blood,
river-sound in her bones—
small native undertone, sure and true,
woven through every fierce word.
If they took her softness,
she returns it as steel.
If they warned her to be smaller,
she grows—loud as thunder over cliffs.
She walks toward her own center
where the mountains keep their promises,
and there, in the bright dangerous quiet,
she becomes herself again—
wider than fear, brighter than fire.
