The Primal Feminine is not pure, and you know it. Let’s show them it looks like thick-skinned substance and defiant eyes more than pastel wings and glitter.
Love me like Lilith loves the wild, like the outcast loves rebellion, and like the beasts love their freedom. Strap me to your back and take me home.
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.
I don’t know who started the chant, but soon there were millions of voices crying out into the night, "We are taking back our children, and we are rising! We are rising! We are rising!" The clouds started parting, and when we saw the moon, we knew we were fulfilling a sort of planetary destiny.
And this, my love, this is the hearty bread of fem-fire; it has been baked in the blazes of our funeral pyres, smoked in the houses they burned, and seasoned with the ashes of the holy healers burned at the stake. This is the taste of righteous rage. Don’t eat this before bed, or you will not ...
A strong September wind tosses her untamed hair, and she knows it is time. This is the night of her soul-reaping, and she will be covered in the Witch’s war paint of dirt, sweat, ash, and blood before it is all over.
Tonight, you will be visited by three spirits, my lost creature, my kin. Together, these wild ghosts will bring you home.