Poem 02: Choose Yourself, Again
Commit to the soft & sacred work of your joy
Words cannot express how excited I am to share this piece. I collaborated with Matt of
to bring more life to this poem. Matt is an American composer, songwriter, and producer. Inspired by the forests and mountains of his home in the Pacific Northwest, Fog Chaser writes cinematic, neoclassical music that incorporates acoustic, orchestral, and electronic elements to create a distinctive sound for film, books, TV, podcasts, and other media. What I love about Matt's work is that he sends moments of calm through this work. If you want to learn more about him and his offerings, there is a new original song with an accompanying visual every month exclusively through his free newsletter.I hope you enjoy this poem and that it brings you closer to the truth of your own life.
One day, I woke up singing a song I didn't know.
Saying prayer I never prayed.
Holding seeds I'd never sown.
Yet—the lyrics rolled off my lips like love,
like my mother tongue.
Like the first language I'd ever known.
It was all so strange.
Like a shadow in the sunlight,
like having two left feet...
Maybe the ancestors taught me in my dreams, I thought.
Because my voice wasn't mine. I felt unfamiliar to myself.
My heart was heavy with a new type of wisdom—the wisdom of women
who chose themselves long before we knew how to call it by name.
Commit to yourself, I hummed—
the mantra slipping from my lips like honey from a spoon.
Slow. Heavy. Impatient on its descent.
Commit to the soft & sacred work of your joy.
It is your birthright to hold yourself,
to cradle who you've always wanted to be.
You are worthy of your own protection,
even in the face of your own rejection.
Stop looking away.
Learn to take yourself by the hand.
You aren't out of reach.
Your healing is the rebellion.
Your joy is the freedom song.
You deserve every piece of liberation
that you ache for.
What you're worth is no longer up for debate.
Carve your way out of your old ways.
Who you used to be is no longer a haven or a home.
Stand in the sunlight of your becoming,
where shadows dissolve, and your truth remains.
Hold every ache tenderly, but don't let it anchor you.
Sow the seeds you hold.
Walk forward—one audacious step, then another.
This is the season of your blooming.
This is the season you claim as your own.
May it be so,
and may it always be.
One day, I woke up singing a song I didn't know.
Saying prayer I never prayed.
Holding seeds I'd never sown.
Yet—the lyrics rolled off my lips like love,
like my mother tongue.
Like the first language I'd ever known.
It was all so strange.
To choose myself yet again.
Gratitude Journal is a free (bi-weekly'ish) community newsletter. If you'd like to support my work, please consider subscribing and sharing this free Substack. If you’re looking to monetarily support, buying my books, listening to my podcast, or joining me at a retreat or workshop are options. I even made a perfume for us! I have plenty of offerings for you to choose from. I'm grateful for your support in whatever capacity.
To hear more of Matt’s music, there are links here: Substack Newsletter / Spotify /
Apple Music / Website
 | A guest post by
|
Wow. I had to listen through this three times. I will do it again - so soothing AND inspiring. The beautiful word craft… “like honey from a spoon. Slow. Heavy. Impatient on its descent.” And the verse that left me in tears, ending with gentle exhortation to “hold every ache tenderly but don’t let it anchor you”. My prayer for personal growth is that I can, somehow, find my way forward - one audacious step after another. Thank you, Alex! ❤️
Today was a new day for me, and I found myself opening to the joy. And then I found your poem. Coincidence? Probably not. Thank you, universe! Thank you, Alex Elle!