The Door Opens
I woke up on the first day of 2026With my feet already planted in promise.No alarm clock.No urgency.Just abundance clearing its throatand saying, Good morning. We’re doing this together. The calendar turned,and so did I—not out of pressure,but out of pleasure.Because this year doesn’t ask me to prove myself.It recognizes me on sight. This is…
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Farewell, With Lipstick and Grace
On this last day—December standing at the doorwith her coat on, tapping her watch—I turn around and look at you,2025,and say,whew. You were not subtle.You arrived like a plot twistwith good intentions and sharp elbows.You gave me champagne highs,flatline silences,and lessons disguised as detours.You asked me questionsI did not know I was brave enough to…
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Buttoned Up, Blessed, and Not Looking Back
December comes in like a woman who knows—knows when to leave the party,knows when the music has said all it can say,knows when it’s time to fix her collarand reclaim her power in silence. These final days?I button myself up.Not out of fear—out of reverence.Out of knowing my strength deserves containment,not explanation. I regain myself…
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December, or the Art of Becoming Without Apology
I am not rushing toward the new year.I am letting it find me—shoes off, heart open,laughing in the doorway of December. This month does not ask for reinvention.It asks for presence.For breath.For noticing the way the light softens at four-thirty,the way time itself seems to exhaleand say, You made it. Sit down. December is not…
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Grandmother’s Fire, December’s Crown
December arrives with a ledger and a mirror.It does not ask permission.It asks for truth. This is the month that pulls receipts from the soul—what survived, what burned,What nearly broke you,and what dared to rise anyway.December is not gentle.She is honest.She sharpens her memory and says,Look again. You are still here. They placed their bets…
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A Poem for the Becoming
December arrives like a quiet confession—soft light on the windowsill,the scent of endings warming in the air,the subtle pulse of a year preparingto place its final period. And here you are—honoring the new youwith a reverence you once reservedonly for survival.Yes, survival had its season,But blooming?Blooming is your birthright now. You’ve spent months—years, even—doing the…
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“If You Want to Test These Waters”
I am an entire library—hardcover wisdom, annotated truths,first editions of survival,volumes bound in scar, silk, and victory.Every chapter cites resilience.Every footnote is a prayer that turned into a plan. I carry archives you can’t Google,ancestral files stamped and sealed,a whole collection of viable assetswith no liability attached—credit score of the spirit impeccable,Interest rate on my…
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DECEMBER, I RECEIVE
December arrives like an old soulknocking softly on my door—not asking to enter,But reminding me I have survivedEvery month that tried to break meand outgrown every season that thoughtI’d stay small. I love this time of year—not for its endings,But for the way it crowns me.There is something sacredabout a month that gathers you becomingin…
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A December Benediction for the Unapologetically Becoming
December arrives like a crowned elder,hips swaying with certainty,palms full of every promise I once whispered into the dark.And I love her for it—for the way she steps into my life each yearwith that quiet, holy boldnessOnly the end of a season truly understands. Because this year?Everything I said would happen—did.And everything I didn’t dare…
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Art of What We Keep, The Grace of What We Lose
There are seasons when wisdom arrivesnot as a whisper,but as a stern elder tapping her footin the doorway of your spirit,saying, Focus, child—Your thoughts are running wild again. And she is right.Because there are days when the mind scatterslike pearls spilled across a wooden floor,rolling into corners we never meant to visit—fear, doubt, the echo…
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A Poem for the Initiated
I woke up this morningand the ancestors were already in my kitchen—sipping tea like they paid rent,telling me, “Child, relax…What’s yours has your name embroidered on it.”And honestly?That was the soft slap of wisdom I needed. Because I’ve spent years thinkingI could somehow miss my own blessing—as if destiny were a bus driverwho might pull…
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THE QUIET WINNER’S PRAYER
I win in silence—the kind of silence that smells like ambitionand yesterday’s coffee.The kind of silence where no one sees meBut everyone somehow feels my footstepsGetting closer to my destiny. I rise before the sun can ask questions,stretch my determination,and whisper to myself,“Let’s do this before my excuses wake up.” I work boldly—not loudly.I don’t…
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