Little Red No More: Calling All Souls
Even fairytales grow up. Little Red No More began as a poem and became a song—a reimagining of Little Red Riding Hood not as the frightened girl in the woods, but as a woman who has walked through fire and come out whole. No longer running from the wolves, she moves among them with understanding—feeling their hunger, sensing their wounds, recognizing their kinship. She has learned that healing the self is never just personal; it ripples outward, a light shared through the trees.
The refrain, come out, come out, is a beckoning and an incantation. It echoes the game of hide-and-seek, yet in this telling, the game becomes sacred. It calls to the hidden parts of us—the selves that have stayed quiet too long, the hearts that still fear being seen. This beckoning calls to those who have already stepped into the light, asking them, too, to reach back and guide others forward.
This story lives in us all—the seeker and the seen, the wounded and the healer, the one who hides and the one who calls them home. Little Red No More is meant as both a call to action and a meditation—a song for those who are ready to rise, and for those who are still finding their way through the dark. Listen closely, and you might find where you are in the story.
Little Red No More Red with fire—determined, vulnerable among wolves, and ever seeking. Come out, come out, wherever you are. Come out of hiding. This light isn’t fading. Little Red no more. Not naïve, grounded and free. Little Red no more. Fierce, full of clarity. Staring into darkness, love’s light as the compass. No longer hunted— I’m the huntress. Queen of the woods, Oh my, how I’ve grown. Wearing this cape as a crown, moving through shadows with this glow, calling lost souls home. Come out, come out, wherever you are. Come out of hiding. This light isn’t fading. Little Red no more. Not naïve, grounded and free. These hungry beasts— cold eyes, cold posture— still deserving by nature, yet to learn peace. Those who bare their teeth carry the deepest wounds. They must grow, or suffer in sorrow. For when we cease, we’re led back to shadow, and dark woods become home. Some linger in pain, rather than claim hope’s name. In fear, in hate, they’d sooner stay, and swallow hope whole. Come out, come out, wherever you are. Come out of hiding. This light isn’t fading. Little Red no more. Those who walk this path to see beyond the veil of simplicity mustn’t become lost in a warrior’s dream. It’s not love alone that protects me, but strength in boundaries. Come out, come out, wherever you are. Little Red no more. Come out of hiding. This light isn’t fading.
