✨Awakening✨
They weren’t just marks and bruises.
They were messages.
Symbols.
Warnings from my own flesh.
The one on my face looked like a massive fingerprint from something ancient.
Like a smudge from a spirit that wasn’t invited,
but showed up anyway.
The ones on my chest and neck - they were reminders that only a weak man - a demon feels powerful hurting women.
The one on my leg—deep, purple, pulsing—was shaped like a question I had been too afraid to ask:
What have I allowed into my temple that doesn’t know how to kneel?
But the worst one—
the one that covered my whole backside like a brand— that was the one that made me tremble.
Because it wasn’t just physical pain.
It was possession.
It was rage made flesh.
It was a spirit, trying to claim territory within me.
And I had let it in.
Not because I was weak,
but because I wanted to be loved so badly
I mistook invasion for intimacy.
I remember sitting on the edge of the bathtub in that hotel room afterward,
looking at myself in the mirror…
Marked. Haunted.
And I whispered through clenched teeth:
“No more.”
That was the moment I began to reclaim it.
My power... Not just the scarred place where blood once cycled like moon tides.
But the portal.
The holy place.
I placed my hands over myself and said:
“You are mine again.
I call every part of you back
from every place it was taken.
From those who entered without reverence.
From every dark spirit that fed on your softness.
Every time I gave you away thinking it was love.
You are sacred.
You are sealed.
You are whole.”
And I felt it.
Something leave.
Something ancient and heavy.
Like an echo that had overstayed its welcome.
⸻
I thought of her … Lilith.
She is the first echo.
The first woman who said no
and was demonized for it.
Maybe she didn’t leave Eden because she was evil.
Maybe she left because Adam wanted access,
not intimacy.
Maybe he wanted to climb inside her body
without honoring the divine gateway she was.
Maybe when she said “You will not dominate me,”
he mistook her sovereignty for sin.
And so they wrote her out of the story.
Called her wild.
Called her dangerous.
Turned her into a cautionary tale—
when really,
she was the warning.
⸻
What happened to me wasn’t just personal.
It was ancestral.
A reenactment of the war that’s been playing out since the garden—
between sacred feminine sovereignty
and distorted masculine hunger.
The bruises were not just bruises.
They were warnings etched in flesh.
A message written in blood and shadow:
You are not meant to be conquered.
And I didn’t just survive it.
I didn’t crawl away.
I didn’t shrink and shatter.
I broke the cycle.
I called my womb back from every dark altar
it had been laid upon.
From every night I dissociated just
to be touched.
From every time I smiled through discomfort
to feel loved.
From every contract signed in silence,
hoping pain would earn me closeness.
And in that moment—
I remembered.
That I am not just a woman.
I am not just flesh.
Not just soft.
I AM….
Made in image of God.
The storm and the stillness.
The priestess and the portal.
The daughter of Wisdom and Love.
I am every wild woman they tried to silence …
and failed to forget.