I rise when the sun says it’s time—
Not a moment sooner.
My alarm is the ocean’s hum,
Not some digital intruder.
I don’t do chaos before coffee.
And I definitely don’t rush.
I move like tides—intentional,
With a sensual kind of hush.
My calendar follows solstice logic:
Does it feel warm? Does it shine?
If not, reschedule.
I’m synced with divine time.
I respond like waves—not instantly.
But when I do, it’s cleansing.
Every “yes” is sacred.
Every “no” is ascending.
I float between meetings like I float in the sea,
Hydrated, glowing, and gloriously free.
Deadlines melt like ice cream cones
When I’m aligned with sacred tones.
Soft? Yes. Try seawater-soft—
Able to smooth rocks and cut cliffs.
Don’t mistake my calm for passive—
I just prefer moonlit shifts.
I’m not late—I’m lunar.
I don’t rush—I ripple.
And if you want urgency, baby,
Take a popsicle.
Because I’m on goddess time,
And July is my business plan.
With sunscreen, hibiscus, and boundaries
That tan.
I laugh like gulls on a summer breeze,
And stretch like time on Sunday seas.
Softness is my strategy.
Sun is my stylist.
And peace? My most consistent stylist.
So here’s to the women
Who follow the current, not the crowd—
Who answer to oceans,
And aren’t afraid to be proud.
We don’t chase. We coast.
We don’t burn out. We bask.
We don’t rush to meet time—
We make time ask—
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