I wanna be that girl,  
the girl who was loved as a child,  
the girl who'll be remembered,  
the girl who was cared for,  
the girl who was never left alone.  

I wanna be the laughter in the room,  
the warmth in every touch,  
the calm in the storm,  
the one who gave and received love,  
the one whose heart was always held.    

I wanna be that girl,  
the girl who learned to heal,  
the girl who chose to shine,  
the girl who loved herself,  
and left her mark on time.

Conspire to inspire,
Inspire to admire,
Admire to aspire,
Aspire to set fire
To your demons
That conspire.

In the ethereal realm, where Themis holds sway,
A cosmic ballet of justice, a metaphorical play.
Yet, in our earthly sphere, reflections intertwine,
Empower women—the catalysts of progress divine.

Like Themis, with scales, a celestial display,
Let women’s worth twirl within the sunlit ray.
Respect and recognition, whispered dreams unfold,
A symphony of progress, a story yet untold.

As Themis adorns the sacred tapestry of mythic lore,
So too can women ascend, their voices galore.
Grant them the stage, society’s sacred decree,
Witness progress soaring, untethered and free.

Under skies where umbrage is stitched with thoughts, I ponder, on the days, like copper, reticence is bent when voices, hushed, rise and take their place,
with colors sharp as blades, of stories then that crashed against the wall of silence.

Muted. Muted. Muted for so long.
This voice, a titan, bones crumpled in fetal position and slid into a box has been gagged for so long. The body now unfurls, a sapling having been denied of its spring for too long.

And I’m waiting for the day when I can keep my head up, when I can speak up and say my peace, say my piece.

And I’m waiting for the day, no longer I, a sunflower with shoulders hunched, head bowed, lips crimped, wilting under the star I’ve always loved, basking in the warmth and letting the shadow fall behind me, am afraid of parading the reflection the mirror holds for me. When rights are not hoisted as hopeful words scrawled on cardboard for no eyes to see.

No longer hidden, walk with neither shackles or shame, unapologetic without otherness and doubt, to stand tall, shedding the cloak of unseen, burst into darkness like new born light for everyone to see.

Under the crushing weight of novelty, head stuffed inside a crown for the surd, Humanity watered down until it turns into a pulp of flesh, no more. No more, I say.

Pay me no nods, nor embrace, nor tokens, but vows that we would dine at a table and see the beauty of existence in your eyes, take comfort in your smile, and speak my mind as you freely could, when you get out of line. If you don’t know, feel free to unbuckle my shoes, fill them, take root in them, walk miles in them, get spat in them, get persecuted without a reason in them, take a number, stand in line, keep your mouth shut in them, go home in them, if there are holes, feel the burn of friction, weep, weep, weep and be laughed at, be told what you feel is not real in them. Maybe yearn for a word or two and let somebody, anybody know you are crumbling into them, like a cinderblock too weak to cradle fire any further in them?

Maybe only then, that in them, you’ll take my callused hand to sand yours, and we'll find the stars that guide us home to peace, and in that space, our voices intertwine, the beating of hearts are in synch, with heads held high.

Let me, in confidence, be worthy of the space I claim and of equal measure know what it’s like to live free and not keep waiting for the day.

At nineteen, I became a mother,
a title that shook the stars—
barely an adult, but now a world-builder,
my dreams reshaped by tiny hands.

She is not the reflection they painted,
nor the role they assigned.
She is the breath of the earth,
the roots and the bloom,
both soft and unyielding.
She carries worlds within her—
and owes nothing to anyone.

Society taught me to hide.
A mask became my survival.
Now I wear the crown they covet,
and my truth drowns their silence.