As a child, I was a witch, and I was powerful then;
I brewed potions out of soaps, and wished for my own garden.

I learned to tell the flowers apart, and could untie any knot;
But somewhere along the way, there’s some magic I forgot.

I sang spells at thunderstorms, made lighting crack through the clouds.
I used my voice, unthinking whether or not to be “loud.”

Known not to care, I’d never let someone take up my space,
Nor of myself, dreams, desires, allow anyone erase.

As I grow, I’ve learned to glance backward, at who I was;
She knew more than I do now, and of late, it gives me pause.