Hag's way

Into the curve of her breast,

I fall.

Endrenched.

She rides at night

upon shells,

wet with excitement,

shaking, bleeding,

revealing

 parts of herself

left unfed.

'Take me to the bones,

Take me to the dead..' she wept.

And so I carried her,

and so I bled,

until I had nothing left.

For the bones within her were the ones that remained within me.

'Show us your skin,

show us your teeth,' they sang.

Am I witch?..am I whore?..am I hag?

Without life,

she is just white.

Give her life, give her breath,

and guide her toward home.

White upon the river.

Gliding, gliding.

White.

Swan's way

''..where it was forbidden to disturb a woman..''

..as the oil slid thickly down her back,

she never looked back,

she never looked back.

Upon antlers of swans,

entwined as they glide,

swiftly along the river's edge;

grey.

She shivvers.

She remembers.

She remembers the way,

she knows the way.

She dips in her toes before diving;

guiding her senses in

gently, 

acutely tampering with time.

'Where is the Winter?' she cried,

'Where am I?'

'My darling we are due,' was the answer in the wind,

'We are due in good time,

all in good time.'

And as she swam, 

further and further,

she realised what she already knew;

that home was a feeling within her,

 rather than the space around her.

And so she swam,

and she swam,

gliding upon the river;

white,

white feathers.

White

Nature's Whore

They would not take her as a whore..

''There is something moving under me, beastly.''

Someone help them

'..she helps others in order to escape from herself and her own fears, in order to affirm that she has no right to joy or satisfaction.''

If panting doesn't help, try screaming instead.

It helps much more than the whispering.

___

The most important things to talk about, are the things we choose to ignore; the things we should acknowledge rather than shun. If we rid judgement and fear, we would begin to see things a hell of a lot more clearer.

Learn to love your pain,

no matter how harsh the sting.

*

My head pulled away when I moved it.

I am wet with frustration.

Leaking, shedding old skin; red and cracked - which reveals itself as blisters upon my top lip.

I feel heavier, hairier, haggier, and yet I still force myself to smile when I leave the front door.

But I don't want to smile.

Why do women have to go through this?

We are reflections of nature, of Mother earth, and nature is not always nice, in fact, she is not nice at all..nice is far too polite a word for such a force as nature is.

She is not always beautiful.

Sometimes she hurts, she feels the pain of life all around her, she carries it within her and in some way she has to let it out. To purge the pain, transmuting that which is unclean.

And just like nature, women are not always beautiful.

We can be a fucking nightmare, like a thunderstorm or an earthquake.

And what do we need to help guide us through such turbulent flows?

...

He brought me flowers; Lillies..

 and he makes me feel like a woman.

It felt unreal for a few minutes, as I watched him find his way around the kitchen, his calming presence slowly soothing my unassured self. This beautiful man preparing a beautiful meal for the both of us.

Am I dreaming?

I've wanted this for a long time, and it may even be more blissful than what I'd actually imagined.

Je suis amoureux?

Oui..

...and this time I vow not to run away, but to run toward.

'Cos I'm not afraid, I am completely assured, and loved within his presence.

Yes, I am loved.

___

Accept disorder in yourself.

Accept your scars and your blisters.

Everything heals in its own due time.

We fall apart,

we heal.

Nature is more disarming than love.

Never give up.

x