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.