To Walk Like a Lioness

Most imagine a phoenix
when they think of transformation,
but some women rise differently—
like a lioness in tall grass,
sleek, regal,
born of earth,
not fire.

She doesn’t rise in flames.
She arrives in silence—
the kind that settles over a landscape
just before something certain enters it.

Her power isn’t spectacle.
Her strength is inward—
self-awareness shaping her breath,
inner sovereignty guiding her.
She moves without seeking permission,
without waiting for praise;
she claims it quietly—
that inward shift
that needs no explanation.
Each motion measured,
each decision intentional,
a quiet power,
an inner focus
held steady in her chest.

She trusts the savannah beneath her,
and the ancient memory rising quietly in her—
the wild, inherited wisdom
that stirs when she moves in harmony
with who she was always meant to become.

Her lineage runs through her
like a steady pulse:
women before her
who learned to stand without shrinking,
to walk without apologizing,
to take up space
unapologetically.

The savannah shifts around her,
not out of fear,
but in recognition—
an acknowledgment
of a creature who remembers
she belongs here.

This is her power.

Not rebirth—
returning.
Not fire—
her wild, inherited wisdom.
Not noise—
knowing.

She is every woman
moving in the rhythms of her own nature—
ebb and flow,
soaring and stillness,
rising and returning,
as steady and inevitable
as earth remembering itself.