You’re here now, and that’s all that matters. Put on the bone-and-antler crown I made for you, and I’ll grow my horns long to match yours.
When I was good, I was a sensitive and sweet-blooded Witch indeed. My ethics were impeccable, and my magick was so diamond white it could blind an angel.
Their eyes will get wild, and their hair will come undone. They’ll lift their chins and dig their manicured nails into their palms.
Open your mouth wide so the fem-fire inside you can climb your tongue and ride your breath straight into the rooms where attack-plans are made and signs painted with slurs are hand-crafted out of thick, religion-validated and institutionalized racism and politically sanctioned, xenophobic sludge.
Call Her to wake now. Bid Her rise on Her shaking, wooden legs. Animate Her with the sheer power of your will, and help Her to stand and march.
You don’t need my permission to leave this table, and I promise not to think you rude should you gorge yourself on my bounty and leave the mess to me.
Alas, you know as well I do, Sister, that the real prayers are not said in such sacred vacuums. Once, with legs spread in the final stages of labor, the midwife’s voice caught and her face went pale in such a way that I thought my precious baby doomed. I begged to every deity I knew, promising ...
To the lover who left us behind to go wandering, thank you for leaving a black-hole void in our bellies that ached so persistently we had no choice but to fill it with our own molten power poured straight down from the heart-crucible where self-love still bubbled.