09/29/2025
𝗦𝗽𝗲𝗹𝗹𝘀 𝗠𝘆 𝗚𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗡𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗧𝗮𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗠𝗲
𝘔𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴
𝗜. 𝗦𝗽𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗕𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲
She taught me to fold fitted sheets
and how to make gravy from nothing,
but never showed me
how to unfold the stories
pressed between her ribs...
the ones that made her hands shake
when thunder rolled too close.
𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦,
𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯.
𝘓𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘦
𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥.
𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴
𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘢𝘺:
"𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦."
𝗜𝗜. 𝗦𝗽𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗨𝗻𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗦𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀
She taught me to take up less space,
to apologize for existing too loudly,
to make myself digestible
for men who preferred
their women bite-sized.
But she never taught me
the spell for expansion:
𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘺
𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨.
𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘥𝘦
𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘦.
𝘚𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴:
"𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮.
𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮.
𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮."
𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩.
𝗜𝗜𝗜. 𝗦𝗽𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗥𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝗮𝘀 𝗦𝗮𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗙𝗶𝗿𝗲
She taught me that anger
was unladylike,
that fury belonged
to unhinged women,
that good girls
swallow their fire
and smile through the burning.
She never taught me
that rage can be holy:
𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴,
𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯.
𝘓𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘦.
𝘞𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦
𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴.
𝘉𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘪𝘵.
𝘞𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺
𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘺.
𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘶𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘴.
𝗜𝗩. 𝗦𝗽𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗖𝗵𝗼𝗼𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳
She taught me to martyr
my dreams on the altar
of everyone else's needs,
to believe that love meant
disappearing piece by piece
until nothing was left
but the shape
others expected.
𝘋𝘳𝘢𝘸 𝘢 𝘤𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘵
𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘵.
𝘗𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵.
𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨:
"𝘐 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘦.
𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴,
𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘭.
𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘐 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦,
𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘐 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰."
𝗩. 𝗦𝗽𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗔𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗹 𝗙𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀
She did the best she could
with the broken tools
passed down to her,
with the wounds
still weeping
from her mother's mother.
𝘓𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘦
𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯
𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴
𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮.
𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦,
𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘺: "𝘎𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳."
𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦:
"𝘐 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶
𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨
𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥.
𝘐 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯
𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦."
𝗩𝗜. 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗜𝗻𝗰𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻
These spells she never taught me,
I teach myself.
I gather the fragments
of her unspoken wisdom,
the magic she buried
beneath submission,
the power she forgot
she carried in her blood.
𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳
𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩
𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘢𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦.
I cast these spells
to complete
the circle she started
but couldn't close,
the story she began
but couldn't finish.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.
𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.
🥀🖤
⋅⋅⋅──────⋅☾ ☽⋅──────⋅⋅⋅
Written with a deep heart (as I always do, but this poem was significant to me, and I took quite a long time to finish it)... By Zenaida Nina, known as Baba the Word Witch | Moonstone Cottage. Copyright © 2025. All rights reserved.
