Sacred Reflection

There was a voice —
so soft,
so steady —
I almost mistook it for silence.

It echoed beneath the noise,
beneath the shoulds and the shame,
beneath the masks I wore to survive.

A whisper that said,
“You were born for more than this performance.”

She called to me
when I was shrinking.
When I was pleasing.
When I was pretending not to ache.

She was there when I traded truth for belonging,
and love for approval.
She waited while I bent myself
into every shape but my own.

And still —
she whispered.

“Come home.”

Come back to the wild one.
The sovereign woman.
The voice you swallowed.
The light you dimmed.

Come back to the one
who was never too much,
never too tender,
never too bold.

Come back to the one
you were
before the world told you
who to be.

And now—
I listen.

I don’t shush her anymore.

I don’t twist to fit where I don’t belong.

I don’t disappear to keep the peace.

Because I know:
That whisper was never my imagination.
It was my soul.

And she’s been leading me home
all along.