and i will not be writing a novel this month.
i've already committed myself to an inner check-in and a 100 day gratitude exercise beginning in december, so i'm easing into winter in a different way.
but there's a vision taking shape...
however, i did make some micromovements this evening. might do some actual tweaking / writing / editing this weekend.
chills in the air slow me down considerably.
Showing posts with label process. Show all posts
Showing posts with label process. Show all posts
11.01.2012
2.11.2012
victory
lately, there have been many battles.
it's been a long time since i've been this weary.
it's also been a long time since i've felt this strong.
i am resting. building. learning. stretching.
even through tears.
i am the tiger's daughter,
newly named for a nubian lioness.
i know how to rest in the high grass
and wait.
but hunger is a compelling force.
when the time's right
i will pounce
and feast.
expect me.
it's been a long time since i've been this weary.
it's also been a long time since i've felt this strong.
i am resting. building. learning. stretching.
even through tears.
i am the tiger's daughter,
newly named for a nubian lioness.
i know how to rest in the high grass
and wait.
but hunger is a compelling force.
when the time's right
i will pounce
and feast.
expect me.
1.31.2012
elemental
i have a watery, sweet soul:
calm, cool, collected,
plenty of patience.
most are content to simply swim in the ocean...
but there's fire here, too.
an underwater volcano: quiet, but still active
contained only by the element surrounding me.
my worlds are created deeply, sometimes violently;
built from tsunamis, earthquakes, and lava spouts
seen only by the most skilled and adventurous divers.
calm, cool, collected,
plenty of patience.
most are content to simply swim in the ocean...
but there's fire here, too.
an underwater volcano: quiet, but still active
contained only by the element surrounding me.
my worlds are created deeply, sometimes violently;
built from tsunamis, earthquakes, and lava spouts
seen only by the most skilled and adventurous divers.
11.27.2011
a new connection...
as i experienced this, i didn't realize this:
was that vision an alternative version of the luxury before the sacrifice?
...or is it possible my vision predates the days of sacrifice?
i've learned to question the histories we're left with, if for no other reason than many weren't articulated until the various conquerors came. there are centuries to know before that; centuries lost to dirt, water, air and other powers.
sometimes our soul-memories are the realest ones. even if they are the least-believed.
Xochiquetzal was honored at a festival every 8 years. A young woman was chosen by artisans to impersonate the goddess; she would be sacrificed, flayed, and her skin given to a man to wear while pretending to weave. Artisans would dance around the scene and then confess their sins to a statue of Xochiquetzal through bloodletting. She was also one of the goddesses impersonated during the Toxcatl festival, ritually married to a young man and kept in luxury for a year before being killed.
was that vision an alternative version of the luxury before the sacrifice?
...or is it possible my vision predates the days of sacrifice?
i've learned to question the histories we're left with, if for no other reason than many weren't articulated until the various conquerors came. there are centuries to know before that; centuries lost to dirt, water, air and other powers.
sometimes our soul-memories are the realest ones. even if they are the least-believed.
10.01.2011
return
this has been waiting
patiently
for me to sit still
and let it go...
to acknowledge
and name it
although
it defies description.
i could be staring down
the answers of a thousand prayers;
witnessing the drying
of an ocean's worth of tears...
it wants to be claimed.
i want to be sure.
need
to be sure.
grateful in the meantime,
fearful in the knowing:
love
might live here
again.
patiently
for me to sit still
and let it go...
to acknowledge
and name it
although
it defies description.
i could be staring down
the answers of a thousand prayers;
witnessing the drying
of an ocean's worth of tears...
it wants to be claimed.
i want to be sure.
need
to be sure.
grateful in the meantime,
fearful in the knowing:
love
might live here
again.
9.09.2011
using my words
been dancing with some writer's block lately...trying to figure out what to write, how to write it, how to make it make sense...
but i've also been made newly aware of how words can show support, effect change, and share ideas.
that's pretty inspiring.
the exact manifestation eludes me, but i'm more keenly aware that i have work to do.
but i've also been made newly aware of how words can show support, effect change, and share ideas.
that's pretty inspiring.
the exact manifestation eludes me, but i'm more keenly aware that i have work to do.
6.20.2011
on: being
i know more than i realize,
yet have volumes to learn.
i am healed,
healing,
and still hurt.
i am closed
and open wide;
stitched
and bleeding;
profane
and the holiest of holys.
i am earthbound
and a shining star
unique unto myself
like all the others.
black
woman
spirit
human.
yet have volumes to learn.
i am healed,
healing,
and still hurt.
i am closed
and open wide;
stitched
and bleeding;
profane
and the holiest of holys.
i am earthbound
and a shining star
unique unto myself
like all the others.
black
woman
spirit
human.
3.05.2011
the new lab
my journals tend to last about 6 months or so...
interestingly, it seems i always need a new one just before my birthday.
don't forget to grow with the moon...
interestingly, it seems i always need a new one just before my birthday.
don't forget to grow with the moon...
forge
for dae
within the pain is a small pearl of pleasure.
the defiant measure of, "you will not kill me."
the sweet, salty ache
of lemon on a paper cut;
a stinging, biting healing.
the ability to laugh.
deep, belly laughs.
the smug chuckle of the harlot after a lashing from the wife.
the snicker of the Goddess before she moved underground.
the maniacal cackle in the midst of a gut wrenching cry.
that is the jewel i am creating
deep down in the center of myself.
within the pain is a small pearl of pleasure.
the defiant measure of, "you will not kill me."
the sweet, salty ache
of lemon on a paper cut;
a stinging, biting healing.
the ability to laugh.
deep, belly laughs.
the smug chuckle of the harlot after a lashing from the wife.
the snicker of the Goddess before she moved underground.
the maniacal cackle in the midst of a gut wrenching cry.
that is the jewel i am creating
deep down in the center of myself.
3.04.2011
making it
it seems many of us are looking for rest,
soft places.
evolution has made us tired
like babies just birthed,
their eyes assaulted by hospital lights.
we need comfort
and deep waters.
if we're lucky
we find them
somewhere between the laundromat
and the cubicle wall.
we will make it past this.
we will.
we have to.
there is more work to do.
more blessings to bring to the world.
rest is only rest
not death.
the cycles continue.
soft places.
evolution has made us tired
like babies just birthed,
their eyes assaulted by hospital lights.
we need comfort
and deep waters.
if we're lucky
we find them
somewhere between the laundromat
and the cubicle wall.
we will make it past this.
we will.
we have to.
there is more work to do.
more blessings to bring to the world.
rest is only rest
not death.
the cycles continue.
12.07.2010
11.24.2010
100 ideas - the beginning
i have this tendency to come up with ideas, most of which i have no actual desire to execute.
so, i figured maybe i could bother you with them, thus clearing my head and assisting in keeping my own creativity flowing. everybody wins!
beginning with the december 5th new moon and ending on the march 4th new moon, i will be posting an idea a day, for a total of 100 ideas {for folks paying attention, technically that's only 91 days, so there will be some doubling and tripling up}.
it might be a writing prompt.
it might be an outline for something larger.
it might be a link to blog, website, or tweet.
it might be a reminder of ideas you've heard before.
these ideas are meant to act as seeds, encouraging growth. some you might want to plant yourself. others you might want to share with someone else.
take on 1, 20, 40, 99 of them...or none at all. it's all up to you.
why do this from new moon to new moon? traditionally, the new moon is used as a time for planting and/or new beginnings, so that the seeds/notions can grow with the waxing moon. the waning moon (from full to new) is best for cleansing, purging, and pruning.
i hope you'll enjoy reading the ideas as much as i hope to enjoy posting them.
let's go! (c) casamena
...with many thanks to the sistafriend who suggested this notion and planted a seed herself.
so, i figured maybe i could bother you with them, thus clearing my head and assisting in keeping my own creativity flowing. everybody wins!
beginning with the december 5th new moon and ending on the march 4th new moon, i will be posting an idea a day, for a total of 100 ideas {for folks paying attention, technically that's only 91 days, so there will be some doubling and tripling up}.
it might be a writing prompt.
it might be an outline for something larger.
it might be a link to blog, website, or tweet.
it might be a reminder of ideas you've heard before.
these ideas are meant to act as seeds, encouraging growth. some you might want to plant yourself. others you might want to share with someone else.
take on 1, 20, 40, 99 of them...or none at all. it's all up to you.
why do this from new moon to new moon? traditionally, the new moon is used as a time for planting and/or new beginnings, so that the seeds/notions can grow with the waxing moon. the waning moon (from full to new) is best for cleansing, purging, and pruning.
i hope you'll enjoy reading the ideas as much as i hope to enjoy posting them.
let's go! (c) casamena
...with many thanks to the sistafriend who suggested this notion and planted a seed herself.
11.23.2010
sustenance & starvation
currently sustaining:
the moon
sleep
this
this
and this.
i am particularly drawn to the story of golden hair...
it makes me think of how i was "killed".
how he always praised my wonders while remaining unable to hold, love or care for me properly...unconsciously draining my light, my love.
unlike golden hair, i was not content to remain alone. i wanted to love him.
he wasn't as obvious as the brute. i thought he was safe...
now, i am here.
in this moment, i am acutely aware of my bruises and scars. aware of my loss of faith.
i will never be who i was before the pain.
but i can emerge anew.
some days i know what that looks like...or at least what i want it to look like.
other days, i have no idea.
the moon
sleep
this
this
and this.
i am particularly drawn to the story of golden hair...
Golden Hair was her name; a woman so beautiful of soul and so gifted of spirit, with such a lovely singing voice, that all the villagers wanted to be near her, and all wanted to be like her. No one gathered to her out of deference, but out of true love. And that was returned to them by her a thousand fold.
Whereby some in the village were always pointing fingers at whomever they thought were sinners, she gave love and encouragement to the goodness in all, including those designated by scowlers as “sinners.” Her way of being was to lead by singing of the ways of love, and by giving others time enough and reason to grow and develop and learn, through errors and through inspirations, both.
But a giant of a brute saw her lovely golden hair, heard her lovely singing, and noted her beautiful hands that wove cloth so fine it could be passed through a golden ring with ease, and he coveted her -- not just her body, but her mind, her spirit, her very soul for it was so filled with life and vision and love. In contrast, he had made his life self-important, darkened and harsh. He was given to punitive judgment, and he wanted to somehow devour the golden haired woman, as though by so doing, he could somehow take on her light inside his own dimmed self.
And so he courted her, but she refused, preferring to follow her own visions of weaving and being, of ministering to the people who flocked to her to just be near and hear her songs.
The brute became wildly jealous of the love others had so easily for this woman, for no one cared for his stern visage. He became enraged. Who did this woman think she was to turn him down, he who had pillaged gold and jewels unlawfully from others, he who lived in splendor but surrounded by a sterile land, he who was the biggest condemner, criticizer and fault finder in the valley. Shaming and blaming, blaming and shaming, those were his power madnesses.
And so, he laid in wait for her one night, and when she passed by alone on the road, he sprang out and killed her. Down to the road she fell, her blood soaking into the earth. He dragged her body into the forest and there grunting with sweat, buried her body, believing this would hide his crime.
The villagers grieved terribly, but as time went on, an uncanny event occurred: her golden hair continued to grow in the grave. It grew in the soil of the forest, a small field of golden reeds swaying in the dappled light and singing ever so softly in the wind. Upward and upward it grew until it pierced the earth overhead.
One day, along the road came women and men musicians. Upon seeing the golden reeds swaying near the road, they tramped into the forest and cut the beautiful reeds and fashioned them for pipes.
Thinking how fine a music these unusual reeds would make, they tied them together with raffia and cut their stops, but when they lifted the flutes to their lips, the oddest song came forth, the same song for each of the pipes and the only song the pipes would play, a song that told over and over again who had killed Golden Hair and why.
The brute and his horrible deed were revealed. And the villagers, now seeing the brute down to his cunning and rotten core, shut the brute away and gave away all his ill-made booty.
In our family, the old people say the only song the golden reeds would play, went something like this, my translation of a translation from the Magyar:
Here I am, woman golden hair,
killed by a brute who gave no care.
Lonely hatred is more base than lust.
And so he killed to still my holiness.
But kill me once
and 10 will rise to ring,
for I am not the singer of the song
I am the song the Singer sings.
it makes me think of how i was "killed".
how he always praised my wonders while remaining unable to hold, love or care for me properly...unconsciously draining my light, my love.
unlike golden hair, i was not content to remain alone. i wanted to love him.
he wasn't as obvious as the brute. i thought he was safe...
now, i am here.
in this moment, i am acutely aware of my bruises and scars. aware of my loss of faith.
i will never be who i was before the pain.
but i can emerge anew.
some days i know what that looks like...or at least what i want it to look like.
other days, i have no idea.
11.09.2010
the rainbow is enuf.
there's pain on all sides.
there's drama on all sides.
we've hurt, maimed, and damaged one another in many ways.
still, we retain the power to heal, dream, love, and uplift ourselves and each other.
i am afraid we are allowing the pain to cloud true wisdom and deeper guidance.
the hoopla over for colored girls seems to be unearthing a lot of old feelings and illuminating the still-open wounds and still-wide chasms that separate us.
there is wisdom in saying we must protect our hearts,
but protection is not the same as closure.
i feel like we're swinging to extremes, aching for balance.
maybe the pendulum just has to do what it does and settle into a softer rhythm over time, finally settling into center.
if so, is patience the lesson we need to learn?
are we trying to rush a process that cannot be rushed?
we need to talk about the ugly.
but we should not turn each other into stereotypes and monoliths.
we have to resist its tendency to dominate our minds and spirits.
we need to take responsibility for our own, personal wounds.
know ourselves, deeply, halting the wheels of futile, painful cycles.
there should be no unearned, blanket support without proof of progress and growth. we cannot allow romantic, unrealistic notions to erase or underestimate the challenges that exist.
still, we can learn how to deeply support one another as we tend to our collective wounds.
it is complex.
we cannot make it simple.
there is beauty in that complexity, if we can open ourselves to it.
there is not one way to love, to be loving, to receive love, to be loved.
the ways are so plentiful we cannot count them.
who taught us there was only one way to be satisfied? to be whole?
art, analysis, psychology...these are conversation starters. light-shiners that give us frames, language, concrete foundations to build on.
a means to an end.
a way to name.
but what's your soul saying?
mine:
now that we've unearthed the pain
we have to go deeper
unearth the healing
roll in the dark, fragrant, fertile soil that feeds the world
study star-shine.
all of that is part of us.
we are part of it all.
don't let the fear win.
or the shame.
cry the tears...just don't drown in them.
i love my brothas.
but i need you to learn how to love yourselves
so you can love me back.
can you do that for me?
~~
{note: this is a pre-screening stream of consciousness. i'm sure there will be more once i've actually seen the film...but these are the vibes i'm picking up as i'm hearing/seeing folks react. i worry that there are countless, unexamined opportunities for growth, beauty, and strength beneath the surface. all my life i have heard the whisper, go deeper...i suppose i'm praying that everyone - in their way - gets that same message and gains the courage to do so.}
there's drama on all sides.
we've hurt, maimed, and damaged one another in many ways.
still, we retain the power to heal, dream, love, and uplift ourselves and each other.
i am afraid we are allowing the pain to cloud true wisdom and deeper guidance.
the hoopla over for colored girls seems to be unearthing a lot of old feelings and illuminating the still-open wounds and still-wide chasms that separate us.
there is wisdom in saying we must protect our hearts,
but protection is not the same as closure.
i feel like we're swinging to extremes, aching for balance.
maybe the pendulum just has to do what it does and settle into a softer rhythm over time, finally settling into center.
if so, is patience the lesson we need to learn?
are we trying to rush a process that cannot be rushed?
we need to talk about the ugly.
but we should not turn each other into stereotypes and monoliths.
we have to resist its tendency to dominate our minds and spirits.
we need to take responsibility for our own, personal wounds.
know ourselves, deeply, halting the wheels of futile, painful cycles.
there should be no unearned, blanket support without proof of progress and growth. we cannot allow romantic, unrealistic notions to erase or underestimate the challenges that exist.
still, we can learn how to deeply support one another as we tend to our collective wounds.
it is complex.
we cannot make it simple.
there is beauty in that complexity, if we can open ourselves to it.
there is not one way to love, to be loving, to receive love, to be loved.
the ways are so plentiful we cannot count them.
who taught us there was only one way to be satisfied? to be whole?
art, analysis, psychology...these are conversation starters. light-shiners that give us frames, language, concrete foundations to build on.
a means to an end.
a way to name.
but what's your soul saying?
mine:
now that we've unearthed the pain
we have to go deeper
unearth the healing
roll in the dark, fragrant, fertile soil that feeds the world
study star-shine.
all of that is part of us.
we are part of it all.
don't let the fear win.
or the shame.
cry the tears...just don't drown in them.
i love my brothas.
but i need you to learn how to love yourselves
so you can love me back.
can you do that for me?
~~
{note: this is a pre-screening stream of consciousness. i'm sure there will be more once i've actually seen the film...but these are the vibes i'm picking up as i'm hearing/seeing folks react. i worry that there are countless, unexamined opportunities for growth, beauty, and strength beneath the surface. all my life i have heard the whisper, go deeper...i suppose i'm praying that everyone - in their way - gets that same message and gains the courage to do so.}
11.05.2010
more scorned woman ranting...
{maybe there will be a better title eventually...}
there are days i wish to see you bleed...
when i hope
a smile never crosses your face
and you never know the warmth of another woman.
seriously.
i can't and don't always wish you well.
i am not always the "bigger" person.
sorry.
some days,
i'm still pissed
to the heights of pissivity.
and i wanna throw acid in your face
or stomp on your foot
or slap the black off you...
anything to repay you
for the redness in my eyes
and the soreness in my chest...
honestly?
i can still fking hate you sometimes.
(just being honest)
and i can just hear you saying
"that's unfortunate..."
and i want to
break
your
gotdamned
jaw...
because
you still
don't
get
it.
but
one day
i'm gonna get over this hump
recall i'm 20 feet tall
and step right over you,
crushing the fear you passed on to me
and shoveling away the bullshit
you taught me to put up with.
i'm gonna remember
the love i give
is an asset, not a liability
remember the ways
it was reflected back to me
before you...
someday
i will be presented
with your complete and utter opposite:
one who knows how to heal
instead of hurt
give
instead of take
understand
instead of deflect
take responsibility
instead of blame.
and i'll be happy again
loved from my hair follicles to my toenails
not feared
not put on pedestals
not made artificially perfect
but loved
for my own sweet self
accepted
and seen
through loving, courageous eyes.
when that happens
i'll have no need for gruesome fantasies
and you can go on your merry way...
a mere footnote
in the epic story
of the true and living love of my life.
there are days i wish to see you bleed...
when i hope
a smile never crosses your face
and you never know the warmth of another woman.
seriously.
i can't and don't always wish you well.
i am not always the "bigger" person.
sorry.
some days,
i'm still pissed
to the heights of pissivity.
and i wanna throw acid in your face
or stomp on your foot
or slap the black off you...
anything to repay you
for the redness in my eyes
and the soreness in my chest...
honestly?
i can still fking hate you sometimes.
(just being honest)
and i can just hear you saying
"that's unfortunate..."
and i want to
break
your
gotdamned
jaw...
because
you still
don't
get
it.
but
one day
i'm gonna get over this hump
recall i'm 20 feet tall
and step right over you,
crushing the fear you passed on to me
and shoveling away the bullshit
you taught me to put up with.
i'm gonna remember
the love i give
is an asset, not a liability
remember the ways
it was reflected back to me
before you...
someday
i will be presented
with your complete and utter opposite:
one who knows how to heal
instead of hurt
give
instead of take
understand
instead of deflect
take responsibility
instead of blame.
and i'll be happy again
loved from my hair follicles to my toenails
not feared
not put on pedestals
not made artificially perfect
but loved
for my own sweet self
accepted
and seen
through loving, courageous eyes.
when that happens
i'll have no need for gruesome fantasies
and you can go on your merry way...
a mere footnote
in the epic story
of the true and living love of my life.
11.04.2010
achiness
remembering that healing is a journey...
reminding myself of what's true, shining light on fear.
my love is too magic to have thrown back on my face.
mama shange's words resonate with me today. deeply.
there is a constant effort to recall that my magic is not the problem...the lack of wizardry and reverence for the Feminine in the present male population is.
needing to reread sassafrass, cypress and indigo...retrace the steps of sassafrass' battle for her soul as she tries to snatch herself back from a no-good man whose best just ain't good enough.
remembering whose i am
who has my back
and what's been promised.
i can be loved.
it is not difficult.
i will be loved.
properly and well.
it is possible...
reminding myself of what's true, shining light on fear.
my love is too magic to have thrown back on my face.
mama shange's words resonate with me today. deeply.
there is a constant effort to recall that my magic is not the problem...the lack of wizardry and reverence for the Feminine in the present male population is.
needing to reread sassafrass, cypress and indigo...retrace the steps of sassafrass' battle for her soul as she tries to snatch herself back from a no-good man whose best just ain't good enough.
remembering whose i am
who has my back
and what's been promised.
i can be loved.
it is not difficult.
i will be loved.
properly and well.
it is possible...
10.29.2010
28th day
the blood
is speaking...
the blood
is speaking...
preaching around my shame,
exposing what i refuse to admit;
inciting me to pray
for a love i desire
but don't believe i'll ever have
because that purity is gone
forever
and
i can't unbreak my heart
can't undo
what he's done
or erase the mistakes
of the other
i am forever unlovable
irredeemable
in the eyes
of any man;
too strong
a fortress...
i don't dare
dream those drams,
voice those incantations
even when i know
can't is the worst
four letter word
stealin' my power,
untyin' my gris gris...
i know it.
the blood
pools into a garnet mirror
forcing me to face my true need,
fk what i settle for.
instructing me
to train my thoughts,
rearrange the soul-ache;
dig into my heart,
massage it with my own hands.
i know
i know
i
know
i have to stop this train
before it wrecks itself.
the blood is telling me
to let go
turn my fears into swords
pierce my heart and
let the bad blood out
so the golden light
of Her mantle can enter
fresh from the deep, dark knowing.
mama audre told us about that knowing,
put the blood on the page
and mine,
like hers,
pulses in my ears,
understanding
my need for truth
trumps the egotistical denials
and petty concerns...
knows
i'm bigger than any fear
so,
it wades
through the bullshit
stuns me into stillness
and forces me
to listen.
is speaking...
the blood
is speaking...
preaching around my shame,
exposing what i refuse to admit;
inciting me to pray
for a love i desire
but don't believe i'll ever have
because that purity is gone
forever
and
i can't unbreak my heart
can't undo
what he's done
or erase the mistakes
of the other
i am forever unlovable
irredeemable
in the eyes
of any man;
too strong
a fortress...
i don't dare
dream those drams,
voice those incantations
even when i know
can't is the worst
four letter word
stealin' my power,
untyin' my gris gris...
i know it.
the blood
pools into a garnet mirror
forcing me to face my true need,
fk what i settle for.
instructing me
to train my thoughts,
rearrange the soul-ache;
dig into my heart,
massage it with my own hands.
i know
i know
i
know
i have to stop this train
before it wrecks itself.
the blood is telling me
to let go
turn my fears into swords
pierce my heart and
let the bad blood out
so the golden light
of Her mantle can enter
fresh from the deep, dark knowing.
mama audre told us about that knowing,
put the blood on the page
and mine,
like hers,
pulses in my ears,
understanding
my need for truth
trumps the egotistical denials
and petty concerns...
knows
i'm bigger than any fear
so,
it wades
through the bullshit
stuns me into stillness
and forces me
to listen.
9.15.2010
maker
you have always been
the first.
opening
stretching
guiding
me...
versed in the art of seduction
offering the first taste of bliss,
you slipped in and out of darkness
bearing just enough light
for me to see my hands
in front of my face
and your hands
all over me
but never enough
to find my way out--
until you were ready.
this time
i am protected,
shuttered behind fences
you did not build
and cannot break.
i hear the warnings,
know the signs.
but...
can i deny you
when you know
the heat in my blood
and the sweetness in my tears?
the first.
opening
stretching
guiding
me...
versed in the art of seduction
offering the first taste of bliss,
you slipped in and out of darkness
bearing just enough light
for me to see my hands
in front of my face
and your hands
all over me
but never enough
to find my way out--
until you were ready.
this time
i am protected,
shuttered behind fences
you did not build
and cannot break.
i hear the warnings,
know the signs.
but...
can i deny you
when you know
the heat in my blood
and the sweetness in my tears?
6.18.2010
going in circles...
same old questions
that still don't have answers...
feeling frustrated
dissatisfied
under-accomplished
bored
is there a cure for this?
that still don't have answers...
feeling frustrated
dissatisfied
under-accomplished
bored
is there a cure for this?
4.28.2010
oya's hands (napowrimo #28)
trying to hold my ground
being pushed and pulled by the winds
of the moon and my womb
a monthly tornado
forcing me to take shelter
in words and candlelit altars
i emerge
unharmed,
but scattered
wandering slowly
among my pieces
seeking reassembly.
being pushed and pulled by the winds
of the moon and my womb
a monthly tornado
forcing me to take shelter
in words and candlelit altars
i emerge
unharmed,
but scattered
wandering slowly
among my pieces
seeking reassembly.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)