WHEN THE BLOOD MOON RISES
A POEM ABOUT WOMANHOOD FROM THE DIVINE FEMININE
The Inheritance
I was born into this time, this body, this life—
not by accident, but by design.
I did not come here to repeat the past.
I came here to end it.
I was born to be here and now.
The curse did not start with me,
but it will end with me.
I carry the echoes of the women before me—
the ones who swallowed their voices,
who bent themselves into shapes that weren’t their own,
who gave and gave until they disappeared.
I feel their stories in my bones,
but I refuse to be their sequel.
The Release
I let go.
Of the roles I was given but never agreed to.
Of the performing for the crowd.
Of the titles that kept me caged.
The caretaker, the peacekeeper, the good girl, the one that complies, the silenced, that will good enough if she just keeps giving, the one who holds it all together—
even when she is breaking inside.
When she wants to fly away.
Out of her cage.
To live a new life.
I let go of the weight that was never mine to carry.
The karma debt of my lineage has been paid.
The belief that my worth must be earned,
that love is something I must prove,
that I am only as valuable as what I can give.
I do not exist to be consumed.
I do not exist to fit inside someone else’s story-
I am the main character in my own.
The Reclamation
I was born to be whole.
To take up space.
To be the center of my own universe.
I am not here to orbit around someone else’s needs.
I am not here to be everything for everyone at the cost of myself.
I am worthy because I exist.
I am valuable because I am.
There is nothing to prove.
Nothing to earn.
Nothing to justify.
I stand here, unshaken, untamed, unwavering.
The Rising
The cycle ends with me.
The curse breaks with me.
The old world falls away, and I remain.
Whole.
Free.
Unapologetically me.
Tonight, I step into my power.
Tonight, I reclaim myself.
I tell a new story.
Tonight, I rise.
XX, ID
AWAKENING FROM THE AMERICAN DREAM
I am a daughter of the American Dream.
A descendant of its promise, its illusion, its carefully constructed facade and fantasy. It was passed down to me like an inheritance, stitched into my bloodline long before I arrived. My ancestors believed in it. They chased it, sacrificed for it, built their lives around it, put their blood, sweat, tears, hopes and dreams for the future into it, convinced that one day, it would deliver them into something real. It has delivered us to this present here and now moment.
But a dream is not reality.
And so we remained inside of it. Not because we were weak, but because we didn’t know any other way. Generation after generation, we carried the dream forward, believing in its magic even as it failed us. Because to wake up—to truly wake up—meant confronting the truth that it was never designed for all of us to succeed. That it was always a game of control, keeping us running in circles, believing we were free while we were bound.
But now, the spell is breaking.
The veil is lifting, and we are seeing it all for what it is. This is the Age of Aquarius—the age of truth, of consciousness, of revelation. The age where we no longer have the luxury of remaining asleep. Technology has torn through the illusion. We see the system. We see the way power has been hoarded, how we were conditioned to equate our worth with labor, how the pursuit of “happiness” was just another form of control. We see now that this was never just an American illusion, but a global one. A planetary one.
That we were never just individual players in the game, but pieces of a much larger system designed to keep us small.
And we? We are the generation that changes it all.
We are waking up. Finally.
And waking up is not easy. It means facing everything we were taught to ignore. It means grieving the illusion, letting go of the stories we were given, and stepping into something unknown. It means reclaiming the power we were never supposed to realize we had—the power to create, to define, to build something beyond the blueprint we were handed.
The dream is dissolving.
And now, we remember why we came here.
To break the cycle. To awaken the world. To step fully into the truth that has always lived within us.
Because it was all a dream, darling.
And now, we rise.
We awaken.
XX, ID
THE DOOR OF CURIOSITY
There’s a door in front of you.
It wasn’t there yesterday—or maybe it was, and you just weren’t ready to see it.
It doesn’t ask anything of you. It doesn’t beg to be opened. It simply is.
And yet, something in you aches to know what’s on the other side.
I’ve felt this before. With music, with people, with parts of myself I didn’t yet understand. A song plays, and my first instinct is no. But something tugs at me. It unsettles me. It confuses me. And I’ve learned that this—this dissonance—is the feeling of a door appearing.
I walk away, but it lingers. I return, and suddenly, the song makes sense. No—more than that. It clicks into place, like a puzzle piece I didn’t know I was missing. And now? It’s my new obsession. It’s mine.
The same thing happens with people. With women. A woman enters the room, and something in me shifts. Do I want to be her? Do I want to befriend her? Do I want to kiss her? The mind scrambles for a label, a box, a way to define what can’t yet be defined.
But what if I didn’t rush to label it?
What if I just let it be—this strange, uncharted feeling?
Because this is what we do, isn’t it? We meet the unknown with judgment instead of curiosity. We’ve been trained to recoil from what we don’t understand, to armor ourselves against anything that might disrupt the fixed idea of who we are.
And women—especially women who are beautiful, powerful, undeniable—become walking mirrors, reflecting back the hidden desires, the suppressed truths, the subconscious contradictions in everyone around them. Society fears women like this. Society needs women like this. Because they are living proof that something more is possible.
We’ve seen it across history. The ones who disrupt, who expand, who expose what has been buried—they are idolized and demonized in the same breath. Desired and destroyed. Worshiped and burned. And why? Because they remind people of something deep within themselves.
And maybe that’s what’s happening to you, too.
Maybe that feeling—the confusion, the pull, the obsession—isn’t fear. Maybe it’s recognition. Maybe you are standing in front of a door to a part of yourself that you never knew existed.
And you have two choices.
You can judge it. You can shut yourself off, armor yourself, pretend you never saw it at all.
Or—you can be curious. You can play. You can press your hand against the wood, feel the weight of it, and wonder—what if?
And maybe, just maybe,
you open the door.
Divine Feminine Energy
The Maiden by Gustav Klimt
The Divine Feminine Is Not a Trend—It’s a Reclamation 🦋
Lately, I’ve seen so much discourse and judgment surrounding divine feminine energy, and I want to add some nuance—some real depth—to the conversation.
As the concept of the divine feminine becomes more visible, it’s inevitable that certain aspects of it will be absorbed into trends, just as anything that gains popularity in the digital age does. But let’s be clear: divine feminine energy itself is not a trend. It is not a fleeting aesthetic, a passing phase, or a packaged ideology to be marketed and sold. It is an eternal force—something that has always existed, something that cannot be reduced to what’s currently in vogue.
The mistake many people make when they discuss divine feminine energy in relation to trends is assuming that just because something is gaining attention, it must be trivial or performative. But that logic is flawed. Yes, there will always be people who engage with certain ideas superficially because they’re following what’s popular, but that doesn’t define the essence of the thing itself. And when people argue that embracing femininity, beauty, or self-transformation is merely another trend—especially when they frame it as inherently conservative—they fail to see the bigger picture.
Because the truth is, divine feminine energy is beyond politics. It is beyond social categories, beyond the binary arguments people attempt to force it into. Reclaiming the divine feminine does not automatically equate to subscribing to outdated gender roles, nor does it mean rejecting progress. It is sovereignty. It is autonomy. It is a return to the natural rhythm of creation, to the power that has been systematically buried and distorted for centuries.
The Divine Feminine Simply Is ✨
Divine feminine energy is not something that needs to be justified, defended, or proven. It simply is. It is the life force woven into all of existence, the creative energy that births worlds, the rhythm that moves through everything seen and unseen.
For me, as a woman navigating this world—the man-made world, the constructed systems, the rigid expectations—I have come to understand this energy through lived experience. Through pain. Through awakening. Through unlearning. It is my power. My strength. My sanity. My very essence.
And yet, so many women have been severed from this knowing. Conditioned away from it. Taught to suppress it, mock it, diminish it. There are women who judge it because they have not yet recognized it within themselves. And that’s okay—because the divine feminine has nothing to prove. She does not seek validation. She does not force herself upon those who are not ready to receive her. She exists, grounded in truth, patient in her knowing.
Reclaiming the Divine Feminine Is Not a Political Act—It’s a Spiritual One 👼🏻
This is where so many arguments miss the mark. The modern world tries to label everything, box everything in, turn everything into a debate. But reclaiming the divine feminine is not about aligning with a political ideology—it is about aligning with yourself. It is about remembering who you were before the world told you who to be.
For me, it has meant deprogramming myself from a society built to diminish, control, and exploit feminine energy. It has meant breaking free from narratives that tell women their value is based on their productivity, their desirability, their compliance. It has meant restoring my connection to my own body, my intuition, my soul.
This reclamation is not a performance. It is not about seeking male approval. In fact, it has made me decenter men entirely in a world that conditions women to orbit around them. It has made me deeply self-focused—not in a selfish way, but in a way that honors my highest good. It has taught me that I am not here to be an extension of anyone. That my worth is not dependent on how well I serve others at my own expense.
The divine feminine is not about fitting into a mold. It is not about becoming palatable or digestible. It is raw power. It is destruction and creation in equal measure. It is the rage, the pain, the resilience, the dreams of our ancestors—the women who came before us, who never got to fully step into their power, but who now live through us as we reclaim what was lost.
The Divine Feminine Is Liberation 💫
To embrace divine feminine energy is to break free. To reject the systems that tell you who you should be. To remember.
It is rest in a world that glorifies burnout.
It is intuition in a world that worships logic at the expense of wisdom. It is creation in a world that only values consumption.
It is pleasure in a world that tells women their joy must be earned.
It is surrender in a world that demands constant control.
It is a direct rebellion against the matrix that wants women to be broken, depleted, and disconnected from their power. Because when a woman is truly in touch with her divine feminine energy, she is uncontrollable. She is limitless. She becomes a force of nature, a conduit of divine creation, a being in full alignment with her soul and the universe itself.
This is why society fears the divine feminine. Because she cannot be contained. She creates. She destroys. She remembers.
Coming Home to Yourself 🌜
Divine feminine energy is the bridge between the material and the spiritual. It is the way back to yourself. The way home.
It is not something you need to chase or attain—it is something you already are. It has always been within you. Underneath the conditioning, beneath the noise of the world, it has been waiting.
To awaken to this is to see the game for what it is. And then—
To flip the board over entirely.
SELF FULFILLED PROPHECY
From both sides of pride,
Was born a beautiful child,
True love aligned by stars,
A little girl so meek and wild.
She was to be a fighter—
Warrior.
Bright.
Divine.
A beloved, consecrated pearl of God,
Nothing before seen by humankind.
She was to be from the other side,
Another planet,
A bridge between realms,
A fervent light.
God’s most beautiful creation,
The universe’s muse.
Anointed being.
She is divine.
The world whispered of her before she arrived,
Soft echoes carried through time.
A prophecy wrapped in silk and fire,
Bound by blood, crowned by desire.
She did not walk—
She reigned.
She did not speak—
She proclaimed.
She did not bow—
She ascended,
A goddess reborn in a mortal’s name.
Made of golden threads and siren song,
She was a dream the heavens and her ancestors longed for,
A force the Earth could not contain.
The stars wrote psalms in her honor,
Galaxies bent to make way,
The cosmos kissed her soul and whispered—
“Go, awaken the world,
For you are the one they have prayed for.”
THE AWAKENING
Do you feel it?
That quiet hum beneath your skin,
the aching whisper in your soul,
the knowing that won’t let you rest?
This world—
this maze of concrete and clocks,
of power struggles and invisible chains—
was built to keep you small.
To make you forget.
To lull you into a dream so deep
that waking feels impossible.
But you were never meant to sleep forever.
Look around.
Can’t you see?
They tell you who to be,
what to want,
how to move,
how to shrink.
They hand you masks and call them faces.
They hand you scripts and call them freedom.
But I remember.
And so do you.
Somewhere beyond the noise,
beyond the walls they’ve built around your mind,
you can hear it—
the voice of who you were before the world told you who to be.
You were never meant to play by their rules.
You were never meant to dim your fire
just to make them comfortable.
You are vast.
You are boundless.
You are the center of your own universe.
So wake up.
Close your eyes and feel it—
the pulse of the cosmos inside you,
the infinite stretching of your soul,
the truth that has always been waiting.
You don’t have to stay here.
You don’t have to keep pretending.
Build your own world.
Become who you were always meant to be.
All you have to do is remember.
And believe.
XX, ID
CENTER OF MY OWN UNIVERSE
The man-made world stretches before me,
a labyrinth of systems and structures—
fragile, fleeting, yet clinging to permanence.
A game of power, endless and hollow.
I watch them scatter,
chasing illusions, gripping tightly to their slumber.
Their ignorant bliss.
No matter what, they refuse to wake.
I wonder—
Am I the only one dreaming while the world sleeps?
Or am I the only one awake in a world lost in its dream?
I am tired of pretending,
tired of folding myself to fit into lines they have drawn.
Their rules, their expectations—
I was never made for them.
I was never meant to kneel before their cages
or shrink myself to fit their frame.
Perhaps it is time.
Time to birth a new world,
my world.
One woven from the threads of my own creation,
where I am everything and nothing,
where I am free.
Here, I am not bound by form or fate.
Here, I decide what I become,
who I am,
who I will be.
I am the center of my own cosmos,
a universe bending to the rhythm of my being.
Limitless. Infinite. Divine.
All I must do is be—
and believe.
But still, I feel the pull—
a whisper in the marrow of my soul.
A calling from somewhere beyond the veil.
I want to go back,
to return to the place where stars spoke my name,
where light danced in my veins,
where I was whole before I was ever human.
Home.
Wherever that may be.
XX, ID
Magic
I’ve spent my whole life feeling like there was always more to the story.
Something beneath the surface.
More than meets the eye.
But I was told—over and over—
that magic isn’t real.
Yet as a child, it was the most real thing I knew.
Life tried to beat this out of me.
But that feeling never left.
Through all the years, through everything I have lived—
I have found my way back.
And now, I know.
It is real.
It always was.
It surrounds me.
It is us.
The seen and the unseen.
The world within and without.
We have been living side by side all along.
For years, I was dormant.
That power—shut off.
Buried beneath dust and cobwebs.
But now, it has broken through.
Undeniable. Unmistakable.
I can never be convinced otherwise.
I have seen too much.
And everything—
is not as it seems.
Turning Emotional Baggage Into Cold Hard Cash
Pain is the currency of transformation. It arrives in the form of heartbreak so deep it feels like it might break you, betrayal sharp enough to leave scars, and grief so heavy it seems impossible to carry. But what if I told you that pain isn’t here to destroy you—it’s here to empower you?
Everything is energy, and energy cannot be destroyed. It can only be transformed. Alchemized.
And the energy behind your most devastating emotions—the heartbreak, the rage, the sorrow—is one of the most powerful forces you will ever encounter. The universe isn’t punishing you. It’s handing you an opportunity, wrapped in chaos, to take that raw, potent energy and turn it into something extraordinary.
To turn your pain into power.
When we resist pain, we prolong it. But when we embrace it, when we stare it in the face and say, “I will use this,” we unlock its hidden potential. That heartbreak? It holds the seeds of your greatest creation. That betrayal? It carries the momentum you need to pivot. That overwhelming despair? It’s fuel, pure and untamed, waiting for you to harness it.
The law of duality tells us that for every extreme, an equal and opposite force exists. For every moment of despair, there is an equal measure of hope. For every ounce of pain, there is a matching reservoir of power. If you’re drowning in emotional baggage, consider this: what if you could turn it into gold? What if your heartbreak could become the foundation of your empire?
Yes, I’m talking about turning emotional baggage into cold, hard cash.
Not in a superficial way, but as a reflection of what happens when you alchemize your life.
Pain births clarity- it is the purifier of the soul.
It clears out illusions and forces you to see what matters, what’s true, what’s worth fighting for. That clarity, when paired with your unique talents and vision, is your power. It’s the raw material for your next level.
This isn’t about ignoring or bypassing your emotions. Alchemy requires fire. Transformation demands that you face the heat, sit in the flames, and allow the intensity to shape you. But on the other side of that process, you’ll find the gold: the art, the innovation, the abundance that pain can produce when it’s given purpose.
Think about it—every great artist, leader, or visionary has a story rooted in struggle. They didn’t wait for life to hand them perfection; they took the imperfections, the heartbreaks, the betrayals, and turned them into their greatest works. They turned pain into power.
This isn’t about making lemonade out of lemons. It’s about taking those lemons, planting an orchard, and building an empire. It’s about transmuting heartbreak into alignment, betrayal into boundaries, grief into gratitude.
The energy behind your pain is your inheritance. It’s the charge that fuels the audacity to create something new. This is your reminder that you are the alchemist. You have the power to take the darkest moments of your life and transform them into light. You can use every ounce of anger, heartbreak, and despair to build the life you’ve been dreaming of—the life you know, deep down, you were born to live.
The question is, will you? Will you sit in the fire? Will you let the pain mold you into someone unrecognizable to your former self? Will you turn your emotional baggage into not just cash, but a life so rich in purpose and alignment that it feels like freedom?
The same way diamonds are formed under pressure and pearls are made through nature’s process of calcifying and becoming beautiful through defense of external irritants to the oyster. This is nature’s pattern.
The choice is yours. But the power? It’s already in your hands.
Take it. Use it. Alchemize it.
Wild Child
When I was a little girl, I was more like a ball of fire than a child. Always on the run, I marched to the beat of my own drum—a true wild child. Adventurous, fearless, and untamed, I was whatever I decided to be in each moment.
But as I grew older, the world began to chip away at my confidence and shiny optimism. Reality whispered that magic wasn’t real, and I couldn’t bear the thought of settling for that. Slowly, I dimmed my light. I shrank myself to fit into boxes, to please others, to find a place where I could belong.
What started as a desire for acceptance turned into years of self-loathing. I pretended to be prim and proper, molding myself into what I thought I needed to be. I didn’t feel like other girls—I never had. No matter where I went, I felt like an alien. That constant loneliness weighed heavy, leaving me questioning my place on this earth. In this universe.
During my adolescent years, I desperately wanted to fit in, but it always felt impossible. I wasn’t just struggling to belong—I was struggling to believe it was okay to be my authentic self. People I loved told me the parts of me that burned brightest were flaws. They said I was too much—too sensitive, too dramatic, too high-maintenance. That my expectations were too high and I needed to settle down, be quiet, and blend in.
The rejection of my true self led to a vicious cycle of bitterness and exhaustion. I hated who I was and felt unworthy of who I wanted to be. I became a hollow version of myself—a shell.
Are you there God? It’s me, Isabelle Margaret.
One day, in the depths of that emptiness, I thought back to the little girl I used to be. The one who was brave and fearless. The one who never asked for permission to live, dream, or exist. She believed the best was hers for the taking. Where had that girl gone? What had changed?
In that moment, I had an epiphany: What if I could find her again? What if I could rekindle that fire? The wild.
It wasn’t easy, but I began peeling back the layers of hurt and pain that had buried my soul. Slowly, I shed the false narratives and expectations that had been placed on me. I realized I had to forget who I was to truly come back home to myself.
The people who once belittled me, questioned my heart, and dimmed my light no longer had access to me. I started celebrating the qualities that made me unique—my honesty, my passion, my depth, my intensity. I began to see the beauty in my need to live deeply and authentically. The lust for life I had once known came flooding back.
I surrendered. I ended the war within.
When you invite every fiber of your being back into your life, magic happens. The weight lifts, and suddenly, everything makes sense. The dots connect. It took me years to understand that there was never anything wrong with me. I was simply not everyone’s cup of tea, and for that, I am grateful.
Sometimes, you have to lose yourself completely to find your way back.
Now, I love being this wild child. Some might call it coincidence, but I know the universe makes no mistakes. Being unapologetically me is the greatest gift I’ve ever received.
I’ve learned that I don’t need anyone else’s permission to be myself. I validate my own existence, my dreams, and my power. I am free—free to create the life I’ve always wanted, to embody the person I’ve always needed.
With that freedom comes strength. I say what needs to be said, love with an overflowing heart, bare my teeth when necessary, and thank the stars for the power I’ve reclaimed.
I will always be wild. I will never fit in the box the world has made for me. I am a spirit living a human experience—a limitless creator of my reality.
I know now it’s okay to be misunderstood. Most people can only see me as deeply as they see themselves. I am a mirror to their own consciousness. For those who truly understand me—or seek to—there is a reason you’re here, reading this. You, too, are meant to awaken. To activate. To be wild.
Though I’m no longer a little girl, she still lives within me. She is why I dream, why I create, why I fight for the life I deserve. She is still wild, and she always will be.
I am not a stereotype, a narrative, or another cog in the system. I am a rebel. A paradox. A rogue force of nature. I am where pain transforms into beauty and power.
I choose. I am. This is my life and my story. I rewrote my script and reclaimed my truth.
What story are you telling?
The Universe’s Muse
I once heard someone say that the human experience is the universe experiencing itself through one unique individual perspective. A way for the universe to know itself. The eyes are the window to the soul. We are spiritual beings, having a human experience. Each of us are perfectly made in this cosmic vision, a work of art; not one person is the same and there will never be another you. Made up of stardust. You are the apple of its eye, the universe’s muse. You are the cosmos.
Life itself is like a play, a game, a movie. We each have a narrative we play over and over again. You are the director, the star of the show, the center of the universe, and the audience all at once.
“In the end we’ll all become stories (Margaret Atwood).”
The story we tell and the role we play is up to us. The tragedy in this life is forgetting who we are and what we come from.
Throughout time, music is the intricate inexplicable medium that colors and records these stories, feelings, and becomes the soundtracks to our lives. It weaves the web of time. Through generations, eras, chapters of history and the human existence. It is profound to say the least. It is this music that we express our emotions through and share the good, bad, ugly, beautiful moments of this thing called life. These songs that we connect to. That make us feel like the main character in our own lives. Music is best felt and connects us all through heart, soul, and the human condition.
My father is an artist. He passed this gift down to me. When I was a little girl he told me that in order for something to be art, it has to make you feel something. That’s stuck with me my whole life. Even if you feel disgust, hatred, sadness. Art is the mirror of our own reflections. Evoking and creating feeling is the artists’ one true job.
If this is the case, each of our stories is a work of art. Us and the lives we lead, the stories we tell, and all of the aliveness we feel from beginning to end is all one beautiful masterpiece. And the music we listen to is the soundtrack to our human experience. This is our cosmic connection.
So with that being said, this is the soundtrack to my life.
I am living the poetry I can not write.
I am my own self fulfilling prophecy.
Hello, I’m Iz Divine.
Welcome to my little universe.
XX