Still, I Am More.

I write to you - the me before the breaking, before the bleeding, before the sharp split between what was and what will be.
You stand at the edge now, fearing the hollow space they will carve into you, believing for a moment that you might be less without it.
But hear me.
You are not less.
You are the forge.
They will take your womb — but they will not take you.
In its place, a new terrain will rise: fierce, untamed, and wholly yours.
You will bleed into art, into breath, into every wild, holy thing you create.
You will stitch yourself together, not with thread, but with fire.
Each scar will sing of your rebirth.
Each tear will water the roots of a deeper, vaster womanhood - one that was never contained by a single part of you.
In the ache, you will find your voice.
In the quiet, you will hear your own pulse - louder, freer, certain.
You are not broken.
You are breaking open.
And from the raw ground of your body, you will rise - fuller, fiercer, and more your own than you have ever been.
Still, you rise.
Still, you rise.
And in your rising, you will remember:
Still, I am more.

MEDIUM
Mixed media - acrylic paint, oil pastels, rice paper, paint pens

DIMENSIONS
84 x 84cm (Framed)