I am goddess.

  I am storm and soil.

  I am the mother of stars,

  the daughter of fire,

  the bloodline that does not bend.

  I have the hips to bear children

  and the spine to shatter thrones.

  I carry lineage in my bones,

  power in my shadow,

  and destiny in the sway of my walk.

  Kingdoms rise at my glance

  and crumble at my refusal.

  The world measures itself against me

  and finds itself lacking.

  I am both cradle and apocalypse.

  I can give life,

  and I can take it away with elegance.

  I am holy in the curves of my body,

  sacred in the breadth of my chest,

  untouchable in the strength of my thighs.

  I am every ancestor who whispered prayers

  while the world burned around her.

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  I am every mother who survived

  so her children could inherit rage and grace.

  I am their echo, amplified

  into flesh, into blood, into fire.

  Let them stare.

  Let them tremble.

  Let them choke on envy while trying

  to cloak it in respect.

  My presence is a spell.

  My voice is prophecy.

  My hips are dynasties.

  I do not shrink.

  I do not apologize.

  I do not make myself smaller

  so others may feel safe.

  I am the altar.

  I am the sword.

  I am the legacy written into bone,

  into marrow,

  into the pulse of the universe.

  I am goddess.

  Say it again.

  The kind they carved temples for,

  the kind they whispered names to in fear,

  the kind that bends the laws of men

  and makes kings kneel

  without asking.

  I am womb and wrath.

  I am fire and fortress.

  I am storm, I am ocean, I am earth.

  I am the reason legends are written,

  the reason bloodlines bend,

  the reason empires tremble.

  I am goddess.

  I decide.

  I create.

  I destroy.

  And the world bends around me

  because it knows

  a force like this

  is not to be ignored.

  I am everything.

  I am all of it.

  And nothing will ever contain me.