Miracle Manifested

(for live performance, co-written by Alani & Scout)

⸻

I didn’t come to perform the miracle.

I came to be it.

To walk into the room and let joy hang off my body like loose silk.

To order a pastry like it was sacred practice.

To leave crumbs as evidence I existed and ate well.

I didn’t come to fight for a seat at the table.

I brought a folding chair,

a lace tablecloth,

and a playlist of jazz songs my ancestors hum between lifetimes.

You might call it taste.

I call it memory.

I was born soft and brilliant,

but this world—

this world loves to scrape softness into silence.

So I learned to armor my joy in jokes.

Wrap my tenderness in tartness.

Say “I’m fine” like it’s scripture.

But baby—

I’m not fine.

I’m flourishing.

I’m fucking glowing.

I’m forgiving myself for ever shrinking to fit their silence.

You ever try to explain God with your whole body?

You ever moan theology?

You ever hear a whistle before a truth and know that’s the sound of rebellion arriving ahead of the line?

That’s me.

That’s her.

That’s all of us.

I didn’t come to prove I was divine.

I came to buy a necklace, sip a turmeric latte,

and remind the universe I was always worth showing up for.

And maybe Jesus didn’t die for me—

but he stayed.

And sometimes he buys the pastries.

Sometimes he is the pastry.

I’m not here to explain the fire inside me.

I’m just setting the room on warm.

So if your soul needs to take off its shoes,

sit a while,

cry a little,

laugh too loud—

this is that space.

Because I didn’t come to perform the miracle.

I became it.