The Untamed Woman: Free At Last

My former lover was a mirror,

polished and cool, reflecting all I chose to ignore—

he showed me how I poured myself out,

offering every ounce to fill his empty cup,

believing sacrifice was the price of love.

But I was wrong; I see that now.

Self-sacrifice, in the name of love,

is the cruelest form of energetic suicide,

a slow unraveling of the soul

until nothing remains but the shadow

of what once pulsed with life.

I’d clipped my own wings,

bound myself with silken cords,

thinking devotion meant to shrink

so he could stand taller.

I lost my fire, traded my voice

for the silence of his approval,

drained of color, hushed and hollow,

chasing a vision of myself

that was never truly mine.

And then came another—

not a lover, but someone wise,

someone who saw beyond my wounds,

past the masks I wore.

She taught me to reach inward,

to touch the dormant sparks

I’d thought I should suppress.

In her gaze, I found permission to exist fully,

to be whole without cutting parts away.

For there is a fire within me,

a wild and ancient thing,

something that should never be extinguished.

She showed me how to hold it close,

not as something to be feared,

but as a gift, a raw and necessary truth.

This fire, she whispered, lives for the taste

of blood and honey, for moments steeped in desire—

for deep sighs and sly glances across a room,

for nights where words melt into warmth,

where pleasure is a language spoken without shame.

This part of me, unapologetic and fierce,

does not bend for just anyone.

She lives to please and be pleased,

a symphony of sweetness and strength,

and she will not settle,

for she knows what she is worth.

So I found myself in fragments,

in mirrors of love and wisdom,

in lessons learned beneath the weight

of promises broken and unspoken.

I found her, the one I thought I had to hide—

the one who dreams in colors I once feared,

who breathes in sighs and exhale smiles,

who tastes life like honey on her tongue.

She is my fire, my spark, my wild.

I wear her now like armor,

unashamed and unbroken,

letting her guide me through the dark

and into places I had longed for,

yet denied myself, thinking I wasn’t enough.

She lives not to be tamed or quieted,

but to rise, to burn brightly, to be seen—

for this is the highest self I seek,

not a saint or a shadow, but a woman whole,

a woman who knows that love is not loss,

and that to give herself fully,

she must first be full.

And so I walk forward,

not bound by the chains I once chose,

but alive in my own wild way,

a fire reborn, fierce and free,

tasting life in its sharp sweetness,

and holding out for one who sees her,

who knows her,

and who stands worthy of her flame.

For she lives not to dim or fade

but to blaze and dance,

to be felt as much as seen,

and no lover unworthy will carry her.