Milly Taylor Creative

I can see your light AND I can refuse to be collateral damage in your internal war.

This is how I love you: by finally loving myself, too. 🧡✌🏼🕊️

Scrape the polite “yes” from your teeth
until your gums bleed a language you actually understand.

Go to the garden. Don’t sweep the path—

Dig.

Press your belly into the damp, dark flesh of the earth
until you feel the tectonic shiver of her spine against yours.

Let the rotating world grind the mask right off your face
and whisper your secret name back into your marrow.
When the clutter of “sorry” is burnt to ash,
when the performance of nice is a carcass in the woods,

listen.

That isn’t just a heartbeat—it’s a war drum calling you home.

It’s the heavy, rhythmic thrum of a creature
that has survived every winter it ever met.

Step out of the slipstream of the dying world.
Ignore the sirens, the digital scream, the fictions of fear.

Who are you in the hallowed, terrifying silence
where nobody calls your name and no one needs your milk?

You are the predator of your own peace.
You are the root, the claw, the unblinking eye.

Stop performing Womyn.

Find the selkie pelt still hidden beneath the floorboards.

Slide back into the salt, the wilderness, the silver-slick truth.

Be the ocean.

You aren’t lost.

You’ve finally come home to your wild skin.

~Freedom