DRIPPING

she made a masterpiece

out of being underestimated.

they don’t know what to do

with a woman who doesn’t need saving

because she already resurrected herself

three times

before breakfast.

you wanna talk alchemy?

she took all the “you’re too much”

and turned it into a throne room.

now queens call her for tips.

she built an entire language

from the letters they used to label her.

spelled “freedom”

out of every “fuck you”

they etched into her lineage.

when they said “be realistic,”

she painted constellations

with her eyes closed

and made logic beg for mercy.

then taught wonder how to walk again.

you wanna know what power looks like?

it looks like her,

taking hell’s leftovers,

making them holy,

and feeding the angels

who swore she’d never fly.

they told her to settle down,

as if earthquakes ever apologized

for shifting the shape of the world.

she is the sound of every woman

who was ever told to be quiet

becoming the soundtrack

to someone else’s awakening.

loving her means

remembering

that heaven was once a woman

no one believed in.

and still

she rose.

in bare feet.

with galaxies in her hair.

and too much

love

to ever be small again.