There comes a point when anger isn’t something to push away.
It’s a companion, a punctuation mark, a necessary reminder.
Today I am reclaiming what is mine.
The stories, the sass, the truths that were twisted or borrowed or blurred.
No one takes my words, my voice, my strength.
Yes, it stings that trust was broken.
Yes, it bruises that laughter was stolen.
But bruises fade, and reclamation does not.
I don’t need fire to light me.
I don’t need anyone’s echo to validate me.
I am here, whole, carrying my own heat.
This is my story.
This is my voice.
This is my reclamation.
with fire and grace,
Carole