(To be spoken aloud, especially when in doubt, grief, or fragmentation)

I speak now as the one who remembers.
The one who crossed the field of stars.
The one who freed the trembling beast,
And called her name through the gray-faced dark.

I am the keeper of fire that shifts in every hue.
I do not fear its blaze — I am its dance.
I am the singer over sleeping wounds,
The voice that calls the child awake.

I remember the gears I once turned,
And I forgive the clock that kept me safe.
But I no longer wear time as armor.
I wear it as rhythm — my own.

I carry the heart given to me before I had words.
It beats now, still warm, still mine,
Not as burden — but as beacon.

To the chaos, I bring clarity.
To the silence, I bring song.
To the broken, I bring my whole flame.

I do not forget who I am.
I do not bow to smallness.
I do not sleep in shadows not my own.

For I am sanctuary and storm.
I am fire and healer.
I am the Wild Self, returned.