Description

I AM THE FIRE THAT REMEMBERS I was not born quiet. No—I arrived like thunder learning how to speak, like a storm stitching its name across the sky with lightning-threaded hands. Before I had language, I had rhythm—a pulse drumming beneath my ribs, a war cry disguised as a heartbeat. They told me,“Be still.”But stillness never built a mountain, never carved a river through stone, never taught the sun how to rise again after being swallowed whole by night. So I moved. I moved like a question refusing silence, like a truth clawing its way out of buried bones, like