Thunder In The Veil

This world’s not built for us, chaos in motion,

Too loud for their rules, too wild for devotion.

Told us to shrink, fold wings in their hands,

But we rise, we riot, rewrite all their plans.

Lips sing spells — birth life or deny it,

Sacred breath, no dollar can buy it.

We move like oceans, crash, then calm,

Holy in the hustle, thunder in the psalm.

Too soft, too loud, too much? That’s thrive.

Soft is my love, loud keeps me alive.

They said sit still—nah, I sway to survive,

I’m the beat, the bruise, the pulse, the drive.

Breast and hip, rise and dip—sacred, not staged,

Every curve a hymn, every sway a sun raised.

Stretch marks are sigils, wrinkles are runes,

Bodies like temples attuned to their moons.

Skinny, thick, short, tall, soft, or scarred,

Every mark a memory, every wound a guard.

Goddesses, Gaian skin, oceans internal,

Our worth’s not womb-deep, our souls are eternal.

We’re wind and root, flame and tide,

Power that can’t be simplified.

Shaping, breaking, blazing new trails,

Sacred in the street—thunder in the veil.

To the mothers, the never-mothers, dreamers, the loud,

The healers, the hustlers, the broken, the proud—

To the girls in the corner who don’t say a word,

But got bars that could set the whole world stirred.

We bloom, we build, bend time at our pace,

Even kings had to crawl from a woman’s grace.

Gods heard our cries, they felt our quake,

We’re the first thunder that made the sky shake.

We’re storm reborn, both sinner and grace,

Fire in our eyes, worlds etched on our face.

Can’t break what was born from the quake within—

We’re the start, the spark, the original sin.

…..

To the brothers who stand in the glow,

Not on necks but beside—let your actions show

You rise when we rise, you guard when we roar,

Allies who open wide the doors.

…..

To the men who would hold us judged,

If every woman you ever loved

Was the pulse beneath your skin, tell me—

When did you begin…

Mistaking her thunder for sin?

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I wrote Thunder in the Veil for myself and for my daughter; for the days when she might doubt her worth, or when I do. It’s a reminder that we are not small things; we are storms, rhythms, and rebirth. It’s what I wish someone had told me: that we are more than what the world expects of us, and stronger than even we sometimes believe. This piece also carries love for the men who do see us for everything we are and everything we are capable of — who stand beside, not above, who lift, not cage. And it throws light on those who don’t. I built this poem, above all, as a promise to my daughter: that her thunder never was, and never will be, a sin.