Confesiones De | Una Bruja

Stay. Listen. You might just remember who you were before the world taught you to forget. Would you like a Spanish version of this text as well? Or a different format, such as a poem, monologue, or social media caption?

Here’s a short creative write-up inspired by the title "Confesiones de una bruja" (Confessions of a Witch). It blends introspection, mysticism, and a modern magical realism tone.

I didn’t choose the broomstick. It chose me. confesiones de una bruja

So here is my final confession: I am not a witch because I hex. I am a witch because I heal. I forgive. I remember. I stand at the crossroads with a lantern for anyone who has ever felt like the odd thorn in a garden of roses.

Here is the truth: magic is not about power. It’s about attention. To notice the spider weaving its geometry at dawn. To honor the bone, the root, the ache, the ancestor. To speak a blessing over a broken heart because you know—you know —that even ruins can bloom. Would you like a Spanish version of this text as well

I first felt it as a child, when the old willow whispered my name in a wind that sounded like a sigh. I learned to listen to the things the world tries to hide: the pulse beneath the soil, the language of candle flames, the memory trapped in a rusted key.

Yes, I have spoken to the dead. Not to command them, but because they were lonely. Yes, I have drawn circles in the dirt, not to summon demons, but to remember that I am made of star stuff and silt. And yes, I have danced naked under a full moon—not for spectacle, but because shame is a cage, and the body deserves to praise the dark without apology. It blends introspection, mysticism, and a modern magical

Light a candle tonight. Speak your own hidden truth into the flame. And if the wind answers back in a language you almost understand—don’t run.