I was born in the hush between labels—
not light, not shadow,
but the pulse that stitches both.

They told me I was too much myth
for the real world,
too much ache
for the stage,
too much truth
for the script.

But I do not audition for belonging.
I arrive.

I do not straighten my story
to fit the frame.
I bend the frame
until it sings my name.

I am not your obstacle.
I am the altar.
The echo.
The bloom in the borderlands.

I carry the stories
they tried to silence—
and I speak them
in the language of thunder,
in the rhythm of roots.

So when the world says
“not financeable,”
I say:
You cannot price
what was forged in fire.

I am Nyx.
I am Jasmine.
I am the daughter of dusk
and the architect of dawn.