It pulls me in.
No need to chase a magnet.
The draw deepens with every laughing breath,
every weightless joy,
full and expanding.
Inclusive.
Beyond borders, bigots,
the brave now walking in fear.
It demands.
A soft insistence:
release.
Let go.
There’s relief in surrendering dry roots,
in ceasing to water a victory
that still winces at what it endured.
So I let it take me,
lift me from the dark,
pull me from the ground
into sky.
Hmph.
© 2025 Jasmine Farrell All Rights Reserved
Featured
A poem about surrendering. What happens when joy pulls instead of pushes? Hmph..the magnetic force of healing and becoming…the kind that doesn’t clamor, but calls. It’s about letting go of old roots, shedding weight we thought we had to carry, and rising anyway. Read the full poem to see why freedom unnerves the systems still gripping the ground, hoping to keep us there too.