I was eighteen in my public speaking class, introducing myself as a lioness with a shake in my throat.
She reminded me of my own strength when I needed her most:
When I was dissociating away from my high school relationship,
And dissociating into the arms of an abusive one.
When with ferocious presence I left, and I rebuilt.

When Roe v. Wade overturned and I’m on the phone with a man
He rants about how many women must be so angry,
But doesn’t hear how it made me feel.
When he tells me I’m just like my mother like that’s a bad thing,
With the lioness by my side, I left, and I rebuilt.

With the flesh of my former self between my teeth,
I destroyed and built again.
With the pain of my foremothers suffocated under my paws,
I destroyed and built again.
With screams and aches and roars I didn’t know I had buried,
I destroyed and built again and destroyed and built again.

The blood of self-love drips from my jaw.
The lioness and I are side by side and we are one.
We have found safety at last.