Chrysalis

Some days I sit in the dark and listen.
There is a pressure to get something out of it —
to bring words, images, poetry —
to make it into the 3D.

I don’t know how to draw.
Just lines —
and they don’t live up to the colours in my mind.

Today, I would write about chrysalis.
About shedding old skin.
A whole skeleton.
Wings, scales, tail.
And feeling — the animal body underneath.
Power.

Today, I would write about saying goodbye to an old friend.
A version of me that has lived through the last decade.
A perspective — wounds, patterns, definitions, stories, attachments.
A shiny box I once mistook for a shell.

I transformed.
I can’t deny it anymore —
and yet I haven’t really grieved my old Self.

So today, I would share the sweet pain that resides in peeling off,
at the point where skin and armour detach from the body.
The tears that came as I felt my attachment to what used to be —
the shield, the cords, the labels, the I-don’t-want-to,
the conscious letting go.

I would find the right words to say goodbye for good:
You have lived. You are loved. I don’t need you anymore.

Not as a struggle.
Not as a rejection.
As an emergence.

I would draw the lines of the newly exposed body —
the skin, the muscles, the space occupied.
The vulnerability of being powerful, and seen.

I would tell you the story of how I gave birth to myself once again.
I would describe the ocean of screams and tears,
the darkness of daylight,
the silent space holding.

A Masculine presence to receive me upon return —
Earth to land on,
Water to drink and cleanse,
Fire to warm myself,
Air to breathe.

I would find words for the tickling sensation left between the bones after cracking open,
the space where energy can flow freely.
The burning intensity of life-force energy,
and how it destroys everything —
and that’s the whole point.

I would paint the colour of the new skin —
emerald green —
and the span of the wings.

I would even share a name.
But what is a name,
if not another definition?
What is a name
if not another created identity?

All I need to remember
is:
her stature, her posture,
the radiance she embodies,
the way she opens to surrender — and to lead,
the level of power she can withstand,

and the amount of pleasure
she can sustain
while being.

She.
Shakti Dragon reborn 🐉
Her Dark Divinity.