3.4
July 6, 2021

A Poem for the Witchy Wild Women.

A black cat crosses my path—but to me, it is good luck.
I shiver in pleasure, bowing down to the ways of my ancestors
witches, b*tches
women who kissed herbs, talked to the earth
felt poetry like fire in their bones
and ran free.

Women steeped in stories
passed down for generations
to honor the blood
that drips between our legs
Women with substance and soul
who never fall down for good.

A black cat crosses my path
I just feel to the depths of me.
I lay down in the forest of my mind
and feel power—
my power
the power of trees and ferns
and the magic
pressed inside us all
hidden under layers of pain and misunderstanding
we cast it out
instead of casting out
the bullsh*t sickness of society.

A black cat crosses my path
and I grant a fresh, naked part of me
to run free.
She moves like a song
and gushes through my body
drumming to a distant rhythm
my soul can taste—

Wild woman, come home
to wisdom 
to ceremony and delight
to knowing yourself
and letting this knowing
shimmer through you
as your brightest offering
a candle that flickers
bedside
in the darkest hours. 

~

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