Face of Truth

I am no longer hiding.

I am no longer hiding –

my time beneath the veil is done.

For ages I walked in shadowed corridors,

my light buried beneath fear’s woven shroud.

I learned to speak softly, to disappear,

to make myself smaller than my knowing.

But the stars have remembered my name.

They call me home now,

out of silence, out of shame,

back into the temple of my own voice.

I rise, fierce as morning,

with a thousand suns behind my tongue.

The dawn bows to no man.

It burns through illusion, tender and wild.

I rise not to conquer, but to reveal—

not to perform, but to be.

Every syllable I speak is a resurrection.

Every breath a covenant renewed.

I am the storm returning to stillness,

the secret made flesh,

the unmasking of the holy.

I have worn the silence like a second skin,

bit my lips for fear of sin,

but now my face bears sacred flame –

I speak, I shine, I name.

Long enough have I swallowed my truth

to keep the peace of cowards.

Long enough have I dimmed my divinity

for the comfort of the blind.

The silence once kept me safe;

now it burns like a cage.

I tear it open with my voice—

a voice that carries centuries of women,

mothers and mystics, witches and saints,

each whispering through me: rise, rise, rise.

I am no longer hiding.

My face is the face of truth.

The storm I’ve walked through carved me clean –

and left the light uncaged in youth.

Let the world look upon me and tremble,

for what you see is not defiance,

but remembrance.

The storm was my baptism.

The wounds were my initiation.

What tried to destroy me

became my anointing oil.

Now light moves through me unfiltered—

raw, radiant, redeemed.

Anointed in the ash and dust,

by holy fire, love, and trust,

I wear my scars like sapphire crowns –

I will not bow, I won’t back down.

Every scar is a scripture,

every bruise a verse in the gospel of return.

I have made peace with the ashes.

I have kissed the dust.

From ruin I have built my altar.

My worship is truth.

My devotion is endurance.

My prayer is this rising.

I am forged of faith and fury,

and my tears have turned to gems upon my brow.

I am no longer hiding.

My face is the face of truth.

I bear the image of my God –

eternal, wild, uncouth.

Do not mistake wildness for sin,

nor unorthodoxy for blasphemy.

God does not only dwell in temples.

She walks barefoot through storms,

roars in the throats of lions,

weeps through the eyes of children.

And I — I am Her mirror,

Her pulse in human form,

Her untamed reflection returned to claim her name.

I am no longer hiding.

I am the fire beneath your fear.

I am the voice before language.

I am the silence after revelation.

Let the heavens witness.

Let the earth bow low.

The veil is torn, the truth revealed.

I am both wound and weapon,

both prayer and power,

both flame and flesh.

I am no longer hiding.

My face is the face of truth.

And she will not be hidden again.