PatiencePassions

  I still look at you and wonder what could have been. When we first met, I was in awe — you were bright, effortless, a spark in my childhood dusk. I didn’t know that one day you’d become the shadow in the place I finally found light. I still look at you, at how hard you move through the world, how you stretched yourself for people, how you once stretched for me. I didn’t see the hands that lifted me were the same hands slowly undoing me, working overtime to pull me under while calling it love. I still look at you and thank the heavens for the moment you arrived. You were the love I prayed for, the warmth I swore I deserved — but I didn’t know my heart would become your offering to those who never saw you. I didn’t know you’d break me to earn approval from ghosts. I still look at you, the child you once were — wide-eyed, soft laughter, jokes that filled our house like summer. I didn’t know that light would twist, that the joy would sour into something you can’t climb out of, a stor...

  Lately, it feels like the universe has been pulling threads loose inside me—old wounds, forgotten memories, beliefs I never questioned. As if my soul has decided it’s time. Time to reveal what’s been quietly shaping my life from the shadows. Time to release what has been weighing me down. One of those things is imposter syndrome —a voice that has been whispering for years, and instead of facing it, I brushed it off. I knew it was there, gnawing at me, but survival mode teaches you how to ignore your own pain. Growing up, my childhood was a mixture of good and bad—like sunlight breaking through a storm. But everything changed after my parents died. The world shifted under my feet. People I trusted turned away. Suddenly I wasn’t a child anymore—I was an orphan . And being an orphan is its own kind of grief. It’s learning to swallow your needs because there is no one to turn to. It’s being made to feel like a burden simply for existing. It’s hearing the silence of people who once ...

  Letting go sounds simple when you say it out loud. But the truth is, it’s one of the hardest things the heart ever has to learn. Sometimes it’s not the leaving that hurts the most — it’s what rises to the surface when someone returns. Recently, a person who once meant the world to me came back. Our story never ended with a dramatic goodbye. No fight. No explanation. Just silence — the kind that echoes in the spaces where words should have lived. We were close once. The kind of close where conversations flowed without effort and laughter came easy. Beneath the friendship lived something neither of us expected — a soft, unspoken love that surprised us both. And just as quickly as it appeared, he pulled away. The distance wasn’t just physical; it unraveled something inside me. His silence awakened parts of myself I didn’t know were fragile. Insecurity. Obsession. The fear of not being enough. I became desperate for crumbs of attention, and somewhere along the way, I began losing mys...

 Oh the mystical being a very mystical being and I feel it pulling me intriguing me the way hidden currents tug beneath the surface. I have read so many accounts so many articles but none of them touch what stirs in my spirit none of them reach the place where my intuition whispers. I ask myself what is she is she mermaid is she horse is she serpent is she something that exists beyond every myth we have tried to pin to her. People say she shapeshifts and I understand why because a being like this refuses limitation a being like this can become anything anytime because creation itself breathes through her. The more I describe her the more I realise she belongs to the water because she is not separate from it she is the water peaceful and dangerous vast and mysterious and every word I speak of her tastes like salt and storm. I am describing the ocean and I am describing her and perhaps I am also describing the part of myself that still sleeps beneath the surface. People write about h...

Let me tell you a story about three sisters dressed in gold, their heels sharp as their whispers, their bags heavy with labels and hearts hollow with envy. They walked through the world with glitter dripping from their fingers, yet their spirits were rusted iron. They were raised on stolen things, raised on competition raised on a hunger that never softened. And then there was the young lady quiet as dawn soft as a sigh after rain carrying nothing but the clothes on her back and the light she did not know she carried. They could not bear the sight of her. It bruised something inside them. “Who does she think she is?” they hissed into each other’s shadows plotting to tear the innocence from her skin to snatch the little she owned to humiliate her for breathing. Not because she wronged them but because peace offended them. But here is the catch that wicked little twist the universe always keeps tucked in its sleeve. Though they hated her they hated each other more. Three sisters bound no...

  I still say things like “Mercury is in retrograde,” but it doesn’t send me spiraling the way it used to. For years, astrology felt like a storm I had to brace myself against. Every time I scrolled through my phone, I was met with warnings, countdowns, panic posts about Mercury retrograde or Mars retrograde — and I let them control me. I let fear decide which moves I could or couldn’t make. My life would literally pause because a planet appeared to move backwards. But something shifted in me this year. Instead of letting astrology dictate my life, I started using it to navigate my life. Not as a set of rules. Not as a prison. But as a language — a way of understanding my own seasons. And the more I leaned into that, the more I realized something important: No retrograde has the final say over my destiny. If anything, they’ve become mirrors showing me exactly where I need courage, where I need softness, where I need truth. At the beginning of the year, Mars — the planet of action ...

  They take one look at me and think they’ve read the whole book As if skin and clothes and quiet footsteps are the full prophecy of a life not yet lived They stare like judges who never earned a bench Deciding my future while their own sits trembling in their shadow They see cleaner, gardener, helper And forget that every empire stands on the backs of the ones they belittle Forget that dignity isn’t stitched into fabric but carried in the spine I mean no disrespect to the hands that keep the world standing But I refuse to let anyone shrink me into their fear Into their limits Into their shallow imagination For years I let people walk over me Like I was a forgotten tile in their hallway Like my existence was a whisper that could be ignored Like my life would never bloom into anything worth witnessing But I have risen from those footprints And now I ask Who are you to decide the weight of my destiny When you can barely carry your own Since you crowned yourself accomplished Why do yo...

  I look upon her — oh God, behold! How radiant she stands, robed in her own glory, The crown not given, but earned through fire and faith. My Queen — my heart’s eternal sovereign, Whose grace commands not obedience, but devotion. Once she was fragile, a trembling bloom in the storm, The world unkind, yet she did not bow. Through ache, she forged her throne; Through tears, she crafted jewels for her crown. Now she reigns — not over kingdoms, but over souls, And mine, the first she ever conquered. She gazes at me — eyes trembling with the fear That I might fade with the morning mist. But no, my love — my Queen, my dawn — I am rooted in your reign, eternal as the sky. I calm your fears with the warmth of promise: I am yours, as you are mine, in spirit and in flame. Go forth, my Empress of light, Let the heavens echo your name. Let the stars learn brilliance from your gaze, Let the world kneel before your becoming. I, your Emperor, remain — steadfast, still, Watching, adoring, ever pr...

There’s something sacred about this moment — the way I feel completely locked in with my inner world. It’s as if the noise outside has dimmed, and now it’s just me and my soul having a long-overdue conversation. Earlier this morning, I woke up from a dream that filled me with so much hope. It felt like a divine whisper, a reminder that what I desire isn’t far-fetched — it’s real, it’s possible, it’s within reach. But almost as quickly as that hope rose, reality came knocking, and with it came the familiar visitor: self-doubt. You know that feeling when your heart starts to believe, but your mind tries to convince you otherwise? I felt that tug of war. For a moment, I almost sank into it — the exhaustion, the questioning, the “will it ever happen for me?” spiral. In the past, that would’ve been the point where I gave up, where I’d throw my hands up at God and the Universe and say, “I can’t do this anymore.” But this time… something shifted. Instead of fighting my emotions, I decided to ...

  This week has been heavy. Not just for me — but for all of us moving through this strange, dense collective fog. It feels like standing at the edge of a breaking point, where silence has weight and even breathing feels like labor. The walls seem to close in, the air grows thinner, and your nervous system is screaming for mercy. Everything is demanding your attention. Every sound, every emotion, every person who has quietly drained your energy now stands in plain sight. You feel it — their frequency, their weight, their noise — and you wish they would just vanish into the distance. You realize how long you’ve tolerated what has been dimming your light. How much energy you’ve given to people and places that were never worthy of your essence. And yet, you stayed — because survival told you to. Because safety disguised itself as comfort. Because divine timing always seems to make you wait, even when your soul is ready to run. But the truth is — this pressure is not punishment. It’s t...