You Are Her Wildest Dream

You stand here,
head high, heart weary,
wondering if it’s too much
to want more.
To want rest.
To want joy.

But listen,
beneath your bones
echo the footsteps
of women who walked
barefoot through fire
so you could even ask.

They stitched dignity
into aprons,
folded freedom
into lullabies,
hid rage in the hems
of dresses passed down
like heirlooms.

They smiled when they
wanted to scream.
Bent so far
they forgot their own shape.
But still
they sowed seeds
they never got to see bloom.

You are the bloom.

Don’t you dare shrink.

You carry the prayers
of every woman
who was told
to be quiet,
to be less,
to wait her turn.

Your life
in all its fullness
is how they rise.