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
quest.
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.
moonrise 