Magic, Myths, and Me

Beats of Courage

I stepped onto the green, soft grass,
white roofs framing the square,
spectators eager, their energy buzzing,
the perfect grounds for an Ori Tahiti.

The blades of grass crept through my toes,
whispering, Stay grounded,
as if they feared I might float away.

My heart, a drumbeat of its own,
pounding in rhythm with the sounds.
Every nerve alive,
guiding each movement, each step.

The tiare oil whispered its perfume,
Remember why you’re here.
A spark of awareness ignited,
and I dove into my next move,
a bird catching prey,
lifting into the sky, searching for more.

Sweat glistened on my skin,
the breeze cooling, urging me on,
until the drumming shifted
a tempo change, a warning.

This was the quiet before the storm.
I slowed, arms open,
an invitation to the crowd.
Shouts, whistles, the hum of my heartbeat.

And then, I saw them.
The judges’ eyes, sharp as a hawks’,
piercing through my every move.
Fear burned in my belly,
shaking my resolve.

But the scent of the tiare called to me again,
its aroma steady,
reminding me to keep going.

The finale’ approached,
the drumbeat soaring,
a plane preparing to land,
evening out for the perfect descent.

With the last beat, I swooped in,
a swan gliding to stillness.
I smiled,
my body surrendered to the drum’s silence,
gracefully stepping away.

And when the tears came,
they fell with pride,
because I did it.