Feral Woman.

Lack of JOY

Victimised.

Time to strengthen.

Refusal to RISE.

Suicide - accidental, purposeful or
               otherwise.

Bleeding - bloodless - white blood.

Severed.

*

Hope.

Assessing wounds.

Feral,

injured thoughts,

crawling

towards

a new life.

A Handmade Life.

*

Regaining strength
Regaining JOY

Slowly
Slowly

She walks, she walks

towards,

Her Handmade Life.

x

Stormy Weather.

Lastnight I dreamt I was trapped in an environmental disaster,
surrounded by earthquakes and tornados.
It was chaos.

I was very afraid, and I was running away, trying to find safety.

I found a broken down car, and I hid there with my mum, terrified as the tornado drew closer and closer toward us. 

I was afraid, but then something came over me, suddenly.
I decided to go out, to face it - 
So I did.

I got out of the car, out of my safety net, and I stood there before this huge, terrifying earthly thing,
and I let it envelope me. 

I was swirled upwards, dancing among the dust, just totally letting go.
I was still afraid, very afraid - 
and lost, very lost.

But then it began to let me go, and I was falling, falling, falling
to the ground.

I was worried about landing on my head and dying,
but then all of a sudden, a man appeared below me, and I shouted to him - 
I don't remember what I said, 
but he heard me and he caught me, 
and he held me.

*

Later on in my dream, I was in another place.
In a bathroom; not my own.
I was alone, looking at myself in the mirror.

My mascara stained eyes informing me that I'd been crying, 
but I didn't feel sad, I felt happy - content - 
and strong.

I wiped away the black mascara from my eyes,
and I smiled,

and then I woke up, 
and I smiled. I felt happy - content - 
and strong.

*

Sometimes we have to let the storms in our lives carry us,
no matter how scary - no matter how dark -

We just have to let go, we have to surrender and just be carried,
and we have to trust that, eventually,
these all-consuming and terrifying storms will take us to a calmer place,
a lighter place - 

a place where we belong..

Butterfly Bones.

Connect the dots..

In a barrel 

full of flowers,

Roses, ever-changing

Beating with the stillness of our hearts.

Supple breasts - 

a mountain of a montage,

Your body is a pillow,

and mine a protector,

Ever-growing,

even as I fall

Through the valley of the unknown..

*

Bruises fade on the butterfly,

Her wings hold her kisses 

and her tears,

(cherish every drop - 

fly into your fears.)

‘Cos in the end

we come back,

Arched 

by pain

and filled

with love.

*

Now 

see the teeth, as

they fall

from above..

A mirrored image

cast in stone.

Delicate Noose.

It's the dark

that entails me

buried deep

in my bones.

Haunted tales

of uncertainty,

so far from

what they call - 

''a moth to a flame.''

*

Never far

from the shade..

like a bird

under the wing

..So soft, 

she moves through me,

she removes me,

removes me

and all untethered things.

*

So slow,

I fall..

untie me

untie me 

now...

*

The games, we played

upon the statues

of my heart.

You crawled, 

my way

like a cancer, a death wish; 

a delicate noose.

*

(No more,

I pray

Can I get through this,

get through this..

delicate noose? )

I am Blessed.

With her palm upon her breast,

she repeats

an evident mantra from her soul:

I am blessed

I am blessed

I am blessed, with life.

By the hour of the spirits in the orchard,

We are blessed.

*

Bless'd be our dear women,

may our howls be heard - 

no more to be shunned; unappreciated; undervalued.

May our men be awakened 

by our roars,

hear our roar - 

'we want more, we want more, we want

more than this!'

To be heard, we must make a stand,

we must come together,

and we must

join hands.

x

Wild.

''The male force of lust is portrayed as having something vital and heroic about it, albeit at times, violent. A woman's is dangerous in other ways..

...it is declared wrong (by some) for a woman to show her sexual desire, for in doing so she invokes that God of lust. The power of nature that is female libido is rather different. As a Goddess, this female lust is seldom so easily invoked by a man's sexual desire; she is far more interested in her own.''  *

She is..

                        Wild.

Accept disorder in yourself. Accept your scars and your blisters.

Everything heals in its own due time,

we fall apart; we heal.

*

The most important things to talk about are those things which we choose to ignore, the things we should acknowledge, and yet which we dis-regard.


Leaking, shedding old skin - red
and cracked.

I am heavier, hairier, hag-ier
and yet I have to smile when I leave my front door.

But I don't want to smile,
I'm bleeding, and I don't want to smile.


Ah yes, it's that time again, that time when I become reminded of that fact that I am merely just another reflection of nature; not always nice, and not always beautiful. 

Sometimes hurtful, and sometimes painful.

Carrying the pain of life and death within me, I have to let it out; 

let it all bleed out.

To purge the pain, to transmute that 
which is unclean.

Enter the wounds, and comfort

soon comes.

*

''..denying her wounds 

comes from the same source as her power.''

she removes me

from

the shade, from

the heat

she removes me

from

the silence

of the wound

she is

Wild.