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poem originally written for The Writing Fae literary journal's anthology-topic "Manifestation"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ First, it was the itch~ the kind that lingers like a word stuck on the tip of the tongue. Then came the naming: I want—soft at first, a whisper to the dark, a match struck in an empty room. But wanting is a seed with teeth. It gnaws through doubt’s thin soil, roots deep in the belly’s heat. I fed it daylight, moonlit hours, the salt of my sweat. I carved its shape into the air until the air carved back. One morning, I woke and found it kneeling beside me—real as rain, heavy as a promise kept. And I remembered: every wish was once a hunger that refused to starve.
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