Birth of a Sacred Woman

Sweet Girl,
You have a million tiny worries hanging from your bosom.
Your leaves are withering and the moss is manifesting.
Tan pronto.

Stripped of heart. No longer swaying in the wind, still in the breeze and weak at the knees; ready to crack at any moment.
Begging to bend and break just for a moment, just to forget the pain.
You walk but you are paralyzed. You reek of adrenaline that makes you vulnerable.
Prey before the pounce,
carrying around the will to be ravished, to have nails dug into your drooping back.
But violets could never mask the smell of unwrapped innocence.
You hold no magic and your dispositions aren’t lost on you.
A pragmatic child, an irrational woman, the two are one.
One because of the other, connected and bound to the cycle.
A five armed monster, or maybe six, peeled back every fresh layer of your skin.
Not a monster but a man.
Not a man but men.
Not over the span of your lifetime but one night.
You aren’t scared of the dark for it was done in the light. It began with a dance with a hunger and a stench. You liked him. Even offered him a kiss.
But when a girl finds beauty in the disposal of her intuition,
birds flock.
birds circle,
birds jam their beaks into her flesh until she bleeds virgin blood. And once that blood is shed, birds flee, and judge and reprimand the innocence lost.

You can’t un-divide what lies between your hips. What once belonged now taints your desire.
For a moment you heal,
you find solitude in ordinary suitors.
But you stain their sheets with the ancestry of your wounds. Your sap is no longer sacred and so they banish you from their beds.

Hark back to the lair that made you, to the night you abandoned your premonition. Relinquish yourself from the den of your birds and your burdens. Stand tall and lay flat in your garden, christen its soil with your sacred milk. Turn your roses red.

Brave Woman, stop lusting after innocence. It’s a taste only men seeking to dispose of it can stomach. Your blood never represented loss, nor death. Release that which has been beseeching to flow. Spread your legs wide, bleed immensely, and birth your mastery.

Miss Parisia B.

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