Poem: Becoming More

You are not stone,
not fixed nor framed—
but rivers flow within your name.
A tide that shifts with breath and flame,
each moment new,
yet still the same.

You shed old skins like whispered dreams,
outgrown truths in fraying seams.
But do not mourn what you outgrow—
the caterpillar, too, must go.

For wings are born in silent fight,
in dark cocoons that steal the light.
And though you fear the breaking dawn,
your shadowed self is never gone.

It waits within each leap you take,
each brave mistake, each risk you make.
The you who trembled once in doubt
is now the soul that’s breaking out.

Embrace the ache of blooming wide—
of letting go, of turning tide.
You are the storm, the calm, the shore.
The seed, the bloom, and something more.

So trust the path you cannot see,
for growth is never meant to be
a straight line drawn from there to here,
but spirals built from love and fear.

You are becoming—wild and true.
Not who you were.
Not yet what’s due.
But every day, a bit more whole—
becoming all you came to know.

Thank-you for reading.

Much Love and Light,

Brenda Marie