I am a Fae Goddess

I was switched at birth.

That’s the only explanation that makes sense.

Because nothing about this human world ever fit right in my chest.

They handed me a script and told me to perform,

told me to smile smaller, speak softer,

to file down every sharp and shining part of myself

until I looked acceptable.

But I was never meant to be acceptable.

I was meant to be electric.

I tried to live the way they do.

Tried to fold myself into their narrow little boxes.

Tried to sand my edges smooth.

But every time I did, something inside me screamed.

My blood never beat in straight lines.

It thundered.

It howled.

It remembered something older than concrete and shame.

They called me dramatic.

Too loud.

Too strange.

Too much.

But too much is just what power looks like

to people terrified of magic.

I swear I felt wings pressing against my spine,

aching under skin that never felt like home.

I felt forests in my lungs instead of city smoke.

I felt starlight in my veins instead of silence.

Maybe somewhere a fae queen is still furious,

because her child was left here

among people who mistake divinity for disorder.

I am not broken.

I was disguised.

I am not lost.

I was misplaced.

They tried to tame me.

Tried to make me swallow my fire.

Tried to convince me that survival meant shrinking.

But fuck shrinking.

Fuck pretending.

Fuck apologizing for a glow that refuses to dim.

I am thorn and nectar.

I am blade and blossom.

I am sacred and feral and unapologetically radiant.

I am A Fae Goddess.

Not because anyone crowned me.

Not because anyone believed me.

But because I finally chose to believe myself.

And the moment I did,

the earth beneath my feet felt like home.

— Lavender Rose