Forest Benedict, LMFT

Note from the Author/Artist:
This poem uses words that are often associated with religion—like “risen,” “hell,” and “savior”—not to promote any religious message, but to reclaim them. This is not a religious poem. It’s about a resurrection of Self. These words evoke inspiring imagery of freedom, power, and new life, all of which are available to anyone—regardless of what you believe about religion, spirituality, yourself, or the world. This is a poem of liberation. Of reclamation. Of return.

I Have Risen

I have risen, yes it’s true,
Out of cages I once knew.
Not from a cross, not from a tomb—
But from a silent, shrinking room.

A room where masks were worn all day,
Where I would shrink, pretend, obey.
Where smiles were stitched and rules were tight,
And being me just wasn’t right.

I followed creeds that made me lose
Sang songs that told me how to choose.
I bowed to “should” and feared the rod,
Confused the voice of man with God.

I twisted, trimmed, and fit the frame,
While others carved out my true name.
I painted on their perfect face,
And called it love. I called it grace.

But that was then—and now? I ROAR.
I’ve kicked that frame right out the door!
The veil is torn, the lies are burned,
The prodigal? Oh, he’s returned.

Returned not to a father’s gate,
But to myself, oh strong and great.
I kissed my feet. I crowned my head.
I raised me from the fucking dead.

No more pretending who to be,
No more suppressing truth in me.
No more performing like a pro.
No more life that’s all a show.

Hallelujah to the fire
That burned away the fake attire.
Hosanna to the holy breath
That danced me out of silent death.

My heart, my soul, my mind, my skin—
Are sacred lands I now live in.
My temple doesn’t need your pew.
My gospel? It begins anew.

So do not preach. Do not command.
No outside script will guide my hand.
No priest, no book, no rule, no test
Can say what makes my soul feel blessed.

I’ve dropped the weight. I’ve dropped the shame.
I’ve cast aside the old false name.
No longer theirs to twist or sell—
My worth is mine. I know it well.

I won’t be tamed. I won’t be told.
I’m not a lamb. I’m fierce and bold.
And while they chase some distant prize,
I look within and claim the skies.

You may kneel down. You may comply.
But I have risen—I can fly.
No crown of thorns. No cross to bear.
Just naked truth, and holy air.

I am reborn without a lie.
No savior came. I didn’t die.
I chose to live. I chose to be.
And now I walk in liberty.

I am the miracle they missed.
The sacred breath. The freedom kiss.
The tomb is empty—I rose from hell.

I am the savior of myself.

In empowering support,
Forest Benedict, LMFT

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