Between Bruises & Blooms

They warned you
about women
who talked to crows.

Women
who preferred forests
to cities,
storms
to sunshine,
silence
to small talk.

They called us witches
because they couldn’t understand
how someone could survive
without asking permission.

We learned
our medicine
from grandmothers
whose names
history never bothered
to remember.

We stitched ourselves together
with lavender,
rage,
and moonlight.

If that makes me dangerous—

perhaps it is only because
I finally discovered
that my wildness
was never the curse.

It was the cure.