We are being called.

The daughters. The feral ones.
The ones who refused to be tamed by dresses with tight collars and silent dinners.

We are not the good girls who sat with folded hands.

We are the wild ones who bit the apple, licked the juice from our lips, and smiled when they told us to be ashamed.

I am my mother’s savage daughter. I run barefoot, cursing the sharp stones not because they hurt, but because they remind me I’m alive.

I am unbrushed hair, an untamed voice, a soul stitched from the old songs that never stopped humming under my ribs.

The daughters are rising now. Not with neatness. Not with politeness.
But with the sound of bare feet on earth, with laughter that breaks ceilings, with eyes that have stared too long into the dark and learned to name its stars.

We run like horses.
We grow wings like raven.
We howl with the wolves that never left the woods.

They tried to teach us shame. Try to have dominion over our bodies.
To silence our joy, to trim our wild edges, to coax us into a smaller, sweeter shape.

But we grew teeth.

We grew louder.

We watched the planets and renamed them. We burned our maps and wrote poems in the ashes. And we waited.

And now we rise, and scream like banshees.

We laugh at little men who puffed up like toads, demanding reverence from wild women who could summon storms with a song.

We dream with our bones. We dance in the shadows. We find omens in feathers, cats, fire, and stone.
We are witches. We are wild women. We are walkers between worlds.

And no, we will not cut our hair.

We will not lower our voices.

We are not lost; we are untethered.
We are not angry; we are awake.

We come not only from pain, but from power.
Born through water, through blood, through the roar of women who birthed us into a world not ready for our light.

But we’re here.

And we’re singing the old songs with new thunder.

So if you are a daughter, of the earth, of your mother, of the moon,
if your laugh has been called too loud, your rage too much, your dreams too impossible;
come closer.

You are not alone.

We are our mother’s savage daughters.
And we have only just begun.

Beware little men.