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Darcel Hawkins
The warrior
​
The warrior that has woken within me
doesn’t speak softly or step quiet
She beats her feet to the earth and battle cries her deepest hurt.
She is water and willow
stone and bone
wildly magic
and calling me home.
Spring
​
There’s something familiar in that breeze
Like the woman she lost
Had been carried home
Self love
My hands have dug deep into the dirt
Into the earth
To plant roots of forgiveness
The words “im sorry” tumble from lips to fingertips
And I watch
As Self love begins to grow
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