They whisper in corners with venom-laced grins,
Countin' my lovers like tallyin' sins.
They mark me a harlot, a flame to be used;
But I'm no man's pastime, no vessel abused.

I burn with my own fire, not one that you lit,
A tempest, not treasure, and I'll never submit.
These hips do not beckon for coin or command;
They sway like the tide, fierce, free, and unplanned.

I've kissed with conviction, I've bitten with grace,
Laid bare in the moonlight, no shame on my face.
But love is no bargain, and lust is no chain;
I give with intent, not to barter or feign.

You think me unworthy, a soul to deride,
But you've never seen how I shatter inside.
Each touch I allow is a war I have won,
A choice, not a curse, not the mark of the shunned.

I am not a harlot; I'm storm and flame.
I answer to none, not even His name.
So speak what you will of the heat in my bed,
But know that I choose, and I mourn, and I bled.

I am more than your slurs, more than kisses I've known;
A queen of the wreckage, carved from blood and bone.
So call me what soothes you, cast stones in the night;
But I walk with my head high, wrapped in my right.

And should I take lovers, let passion ignite,
It's not shame, but sovereignty that fuels my delight.
For I am not fallen, nor seeking to please;
I am Lyrikai; wild wind upon seas.

Penned by my hand on the 1st of Daedalan, in the year 980 AF.