I used to shrink myself
to fit into smaller stories.
Ones where wanting too much
made me “dramatic,”
where needing depth
made me “complicated,”
where craving intensity
was something I had to apologize for.
But I’m not that girl anymore.
I want more than survival.
I want warmth
that doesn’t disappear in the morning.
I want connection
that feels like a choice,
not an accident.
I want desire
that is steady, intentional,
and grounded in truth.
I want love that doesn’t dim me.
I want pleasure without shame.
I want peace that doesn’t feel borrowed.
And I’m allowed to want all of that.
More importantly—
I’m allowed to expect it.
