# I REMEMBER ME ### A Reminder to the Wife [Intro — Spoken Word] [Fresh air. Distant water. Rhodes humming underneath.] Goddess... before you start believing this moment is bigger than you— remember. You have walked through hell that didn't know his name. You have buried versions of yourself, kissed the dirt, watered the ground... and still became a garden. This ain't your first fire. And you already know you don't burn easy. [Soft hum] Remember yourself. --- [Verse 1] Before him... there was you. Before wife, before marriage, before learning the geography of somebody else's wounds— there was a goddess with whole galaxies behind her eyes. You knew how to sit inside your own company without calling it lonely. You knew how to turn music up, kick your shoes off, and let your hips finish conversations your mouth never started. You knew how to create because creation was how your spirit breathed. You knew. Goddess... you still know. --- [Pre-Chorus] So don't confuse being tired with being lost. Don't confuse being hurt with being broken. And don't confuse this chapter with the whole damn book. You've met yourself in darkness before. Every time... you brought her home. --- [Chorus] I remember me... I am my own muse. I am my own love. I am my own garden. I have bloomed from harder ground than this. I remember me... I have held my own hand through hell before. I have spoken life over bones I thought were too tired to rise. This is no different. Different fire... same goddess. I remember me. --- [Verse 2 — Earth + Sun] Morning. I open the windows before I open myself to anybody else's needs. Fresh air moves through the curtains like Spirit saying— Breathe, baby. Breathe. I step outside barefoot. No shoes between me and the earth that knows exactly what to do with heaviness. I plant my feet. Lift my face toward the sun. And let warmth touch places I've been neglecting. Sun on my cheeks. Earth beneath my feet. Air filling my lungs. And suddenly I am not somebody's wife trying to figure something out. I am a goddess. Alive. Here. Now. Grounded. --- [Refrain] [Background Women] GROUND... BREATHE... REMEMBER... [Lead] The earth doesn't ask me to perform. The sun doesn't ask me to explain. The air doesn't need me to prove I deserve it. They simply meet me. So today... I meet myself the same way. --- [Verse 3 — Water] Then I find water. Ocean. River. Lake. Bath. Whatever is close enough to remind me that softness moves mountains too. I sit beside her. Watch her refuse to hold one shape just because somebody became accustomed to it. She bends. She turns. She retreats. She returns. She flows. And never once does water apologize for changing direction. [Softly] Teach me. Teach me how to stop holding myself rigid around things that require movement. Teach me that surrender is not defeat. Teach me that flowing doesn't mean I have forgotten where I'm going. Water whispers— Goddess... you already know. --- [Chorus] I remember me... I am my own muse. I am my own love. I am my own garden. And baby, I've grown flowers from worse soil than this. I remember me... No one gets credit for the goddess I fought to become. And nobody gets permission to make me forget her. Different fire... same goddess. I remember me. --- [Verse 4 — Sacred Things] Back home... my crystals catch pieces of sunlight and throw them across the room. My Ancestor cards wait on the table. I shuffle slowly. Pull one. Smile. Of course. [Laughs softly] I sit with the message. Not looking for somebody outside myself to tell me who I am— but allowing ritual to remind me of what noise made difficult to hear. My waist beads rest against my skin. Tiny witnesses. Moving when I move. Touching the body that has carried me through every version of myself. I run my fingers across them. Still here. Still goddess. Still sacred. Still mine. --- [Verse 5 — Nourishment] And I feed her. Not scraps. Not whatever is left after everybody else has eaten. Her. Fresh fruit bursting with sunlight. Greens. Herbs. Melon. Berries. Water. Foods still carrying the memory of being alive. Color on my plate. Life feeding life. I chew slowly. Taste it. Receive it. Because nourishment isn't something I have to earn. Neither is rest. Neither is pleasure. Neither is joy. --- [Groove Deepens] Then I MOVE. Stretch. Roll my shoulders. Circle my hips. Let breath find forgotten places. And when the bass starts talking... I answer. [Beat opens] I dance. Baby... I DANCE. Waist beads keeping rhythm. Bare feet against the floor. Hips speaking fluent freedom. Hair moving. Body laughing. No audience. No permission. No performance. Just a goddess remembering that her body was never created only to carry burdens. This body also came here TO FEEL GOOD. --- [Background Vocals] MOVE, GODDESS. MOVE. FLOW, GODDESS. FLOW.
