The Dreamer's Pen

It hit me today.

A voice in my head asked, “Why are you holding back? Why are you hiding?”

Wow.

I have spent a lifetime hiding—hiding from the world, from others, from myself. I have played the roles expected of me, worn the masks that kept me safe, dimmed my light so I would not blind those who feared its brilliance. But deep down, beneath the layers of conditioning, beneath the weight of expectation, I have always known the truth.

I am not meant to be caged.

I am not meant to be silent, small, or easily defined.

I am a free spirit. I am wild, untamed, infinite.

I have known this since I was a child, in the way I longed to run barefoot beneath the moon, in the way I traced my fingers along the edges of existence, always searching for something more. I felt it in the way music made my soul ache, in the way my body pulsed with an energy I could not name but always understood. But the world taught me to quiet those whispers, to fold my wings, to deny the depths of my own hunger.

No more.

I am an artist. My body is a canvas, my words are poetry, and my very existence is a masterpiece. I create not just with my hands but with my presence, with my energy, with the way I move through this world. My art is the way I love, the way I breathe, the way I feel.

And I feel everything.

I am a lover. My love is not passive; it is not polite. It is raw, unfiltered, and unapologetic. It is fingertips trailing over bare skin, whispers exchanged in the quiet hours of the night, the kind of connection that lingers long after bodies part. I love with my whole being, surrendering to the fire that consumes, to the touch that electrifies, to the moments that make time stand still.

I am deep. I do not merely exist; I experience. I sink into the marrow of life, inhaling its beauty, drowning in its pain, reveling in the ecstasy of feeling it all. I am not afraid of the dark places within me—I explore them, embrace them, love them. Because in that darkness, I have found my truth.

I am intuitive. I see beyond words beyond masks beyond the illusions people weave to protect themselves. I know without needing proof. I sense energy in a way that can not be explained, and I trust it now—I trust me now.

I am a healer. My presence soothes, my words mend, my touch awakens. I have spent so much of my life giving this energy to others, afraid to claim it for myself. But I am ready now. Ready to heal, ready to receive, ready to drink deeply from the well of my own magic.

I am feminine in a way that defies definition. Soft yet unbreakable. Gentle yet fierce. I carry creation in my bones, desire in my veins. My essence is the pull of the ocean, the heat of summer nights, the whisper of silk against bare skin. I do not need permission to take up space, to own this power.

I am sensual, and I refuse to apologize for it. I am the slow unraveling of restraint, the ache of anticipation, the poetry of touch. My body is not something to be hidden—it is a temple, a universe, a work of art in motion. Every glance, every breath, every movement is an offering to the divine within me.

I have been pretending for too long.

But I am done silencing myself.

I am here.

Fully.

Unapologetically.

Powerfully.

And I will never betray myself again.