A Return

A return home.           A breath that feels familiar,

a movement that brings you back to your bones,

back into your skin.

To stretch back into the space you take up, the space

you own, you create, you move as you please. The

space that is touched when you say yes. The space

that is not and never will be fully explored by another.

The idea that you own what you are. The practice that

you tend to who you are. That you breathe in your

own lungs. That you leak your own sadness.

To fully return home: Do you breathe, cry, stretch,

make no move? Does your home haunt you? Does

your practice of self define you? What do we do

when the home we created outgrows us? How do

we follow the moon’s cycle—the tide’s pull to find

our way back when Mother calls us.

The practice of self is one of listening, one of reacting

and acting. Continue learning, continue existing,

continue changing.

When does our home become a fortress. When does

the woman’s skin become power instead of a sexual


When the world gives no space to Woman, we must

create it. We must always fight for it, we must always

claim it. We must speak, tell, push back, exist.

Our ritual is one of deciding to always be here.

Our ritual is one of deciding to never disappear again.

Written by Soph Munch.

Soph is a writer who believes in the existence of women and works to have them be heard. When she’s not writing, she’s probably working on her plan for world domination and thinking about dogs. Follow her on Instagram at @avibeygirl.

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