Say it loud—
say it proud—
I am not small.
I am not here to shrink
to fit your frame,
to quiet my flame,
to tiptoe through rooms
that were never built for me.
I am here
to take up space
and take my time
like the whole damn sky
belongs to me—
because it does.
You think I don’t see it?
The way the world
tries to hush power
when it shows up
in the wrong voice,
the wrong body,
the wrong kind of loud?
Well guess what—
this voice
was not made to whisper.
I speak in the pitch of storms,
in the rhythm of rising tides.
I’ve got thunder in my blood,
and galaxies in my stride.
When I walk,
I carry the weight of ancestors
who never got to dance like this,
who never got to shout “I am!”
and hear the echo shout back,
“Yes you are!”
So I say it again—
Say it louder—
I am mine.
Not yours to name,
not yours to tame,
not yours to explain away.
I write my story
with ink made of sweat and soul,
scribbled in midnight hours
when the world slept on me—
but I stayed up,
becoming.
See this power?
It’s not up for debate.
It’s not polite,
it’s not polished,
it’s not waiting for permission.
It is raw.
It is real.
It is mine.
I have swallowed silence
like stones,
worn doubt like skin,
but still—
I rise,
I roar,
I remain.
There’s no apology
in my name anymore.
No more shrinking,
no more masks,
no more dimming to comfort the crowd.
Say it loud—
say it proud—
this is my power.
Unfolding.
Unapologetic.
Unstoppable.
Unchained.
And if that makes you uncomfortable?
Good.
It means I’m finally being heard.
Thank-you for reading.
Much Love and Light,
Brenda Marie
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