Dear Woman, a Poem

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Dear Woman,

You are not separate from the rhythm. You are the rhythm remembering itself.

Before clocks carved time into rigid squares, your body already knew the language of cycles. The quiet pull, the swelling, the release. The sacred undoing and becoming again. Your womb is not just flesh; it is a tide pool, a sanctuary where life is imagined before it is formed. Even in stillness, it listens to the same ancient hymn that turns the moon.

Look up.

The moon does not apologize for her phases. She does not cling to fullness nor resist her thinking. She trusts disappearance as much as she trusts return. You, Woman, have been taught to fear your waning, to hide your ebb. But the moon whispers otherwise. There is power in your dimming. There is prophecy in your pause.

Watch the insects.

The praying mantis bows like a priestess in green robes, patient and precise, never rushing the sacred moment. The butterfly dissolves entirely before it dares to fly. Even the smallest creature understands transformation requires surrender. Why, then, have you been told to remain unchanged?

Consider the animals.

The lioness hunts with calculated grace. The elephant carries memory in her bones and leads with quiet authority. Creation does not ask her to be smaller, softer, or less. She is exactly as she was designed to be: both fierce and nurturing, both destroyer and giver of life. You share that inheritance.

Listen to the water.

It does not argue with the shape of the land. It carves, yields, and persists. It knows when to crash and when to cradle. Water teaches you that softness is not weakness. It is strategy and endurance. It is power that refuses to be rushed.

Stand among the trees.

Roots buried deep in darkness, branches reaching without apology toward the light. They do not question their worth in winter when they are bare. They understand that what appears as loss is often preparation. Rest does not mean absence. It is becoming.

Lastly, Woman,

Your femininity is not a performance. It is an ecosystem.

You are cycle and soil.

You are instinct and intuition braided together.

You are the sacred tension between holding and releasing.

You are creation, not just of life, but of meaning, of beauty, of worlds unseen.

Let your body be scripture again.

Let your emotions be seasons, not problems to solve.

Let your softness breathe without asking permission.

Let your power stand without explanation.

You were never meant to be constant.

You were meant to be alive.

Aliveness, by its very nature, moves.

With reverence for all that you are becoming, and all that you have always been.

~A Voice That Remembers

Crimson Steed is a reflective writer and contributor exploring faith, transition, womanhood, and the sacred rhythms of growth. Her work centers on spiritual insight, emotional honesty, and the quiet wisdom found in seasons of waiting and becoming. Her reflections invite readers to release shame, honor the process, and trust divine timing.

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