This morning, the sun rose just a little taller—
as if she knew it was my day.
She winked through the blinds,
spilled light on my cheekbones,
and whispered, “Queen, you did that.”
I laughed.
Because healing is funny that way—
You spend years crying over ashes,
And then one day, you realize
You’ve been the fire all along.
I poured tea for my ancestors,
a splash for the ones who danced barefoot through storms,
a sip for the ones who never stopped believing
I’d bloom in this lifetime.
They didn’t say much,
just hummed in approval,
their rhythm sounding suspiciously like Beyoncé.
I have earned these laugh lines,
these hips that know the rhythm of forgiveness,
these eyes that see beauty in beginnings.
I am fluent now—in peace,
in no longer explaining myself,
in the art of saying “no” with a smile and good posture.
The mirror bowed first.
Even she could tell—
I’ve mastered the glow that can’t be bottled,
the one born from soul work and self-worth.
I am bountiful.
Loved.
A phoenix who flirts with the sunrise.
A lover of grace, wit, and her own damn magic.
So here’s to the woman who didn’t just rise—
She redecorated her ashes,
added incense, a little jazz,
and called it a sanctuary.
Happy birthday to me—
the sun in heels,
laughing, glowing, and
dancing on her own divine time. ☀️👑✨
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Healing Majestically 