velvet curtains,

I rise slow,

like heat slipping through velvet curtains,

unbothered, untouched,

a woman learning the rhythm of her own body again.

Every step around this pole is a prayer—

not for attention,

but for freedom.

A soft confession in motion,

where strength and sweetness

finally meet in the same breath.

My skin glows with its own conviction,

my curves tell stories

I once tried to whisper away.

Now I let them sing.

I move like mystery,

I shine like memory,

and I claim every angle of myself

as art worth looking at.

This is not just my pole era—

this is the moment I choose me.

The version of me

who walks in red velvet confidence,

who bends without breaking,

who loves herself loud

and looks damn good doing it.