Poem: Intuition

When the world grows loud with borrowed names
and every road is lit by someone else’s flame,
there is a quieter compass underneath—
small as breath, steady as the tide beneath the reef.

Listen to your intuition.
It does not shout.
It waits.

It speaks in the pause before a “yes” you do not mean,
in the ache that arrives when you abandon yourself,
in the sudden warmth toward a path
you cannot explain to anyone.

The mind builds maps from fear and memory,
but intuition walks barefoot through the dark
and still knows where the river bends.

Trust the pull.
The invisible tug toward certain people,
certain mornings,
certain impossible dreams
that return again and again like migrating birds.

Not every answer arrives as thunder.
Some arrive as a whisper saying:
go here,
leave that,
begin now.

And though the world may ask for proof,
your spirit was never designed
to bloom by committee.

So when the crossroads come—
and they will—
be still enough to hear
the ancient voice within you
that has survived every version of your becoming.

Then follow it.

Even softly.
Even afraid.