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You are the medicine woman unleashing a banshee’s cry at the old men marching outside of the abortion clinic. You are the Maiden dancing a body-prayer for clean water, and you will not rest. Your wrath is holy, and you won’t stop howling.
Our captors never thought we would have the Maiden’s mettle to break free, but they underestimated the collective ire of caged women.
Here, in the realm of fallen angels, I am accepted into your warm arms as a freak and heathen, and you are permitted entry into the temple of my body as the Holy Shadow.
Thou shalt honor the wolf within, for the dark Primal Feminine is hungriest on these days. Let us leave this place now and run through the forest wailing like mischievous banshees. The ghosts will not judge us if we get on all fours and unleash enraged howls at those who have wronged us, so let ...
We will not sit back and be idle. We are restless change-agents come to claim the future our souls designed when we lived beyond the veil. This is the reckoning. The Motherland is real, and She is wrathful. We are incensed by the ignorance, and our vows are being emblazoned with ire on the ...
I summon them, these women I was told to shun, and I take my seat at this Last Supper of Holy Whores, this so solemn Samhain celebration that is my highest ritual.
The deadliest sins of the wild woman are far more loathsome than those committed against any external deity, for they are those she commits against herself.