Strip it all down, fire woman,
right down to the bone.
What calls out for you,
like a bellowing wild animal in the night?
Where does your instinctual voodoo take you, when you’re aligned enough to seek?
What parts of you can loosen,
so the wayward rawness that you are
can finally come home?
Woman wild,
before you go fumbling
down a path that isn’t yours,
let that ancient dirty hand
you’ve been refusing to take
have a place on your shoulder
and let it guide you
with all the urgency in its bones.
It’s not supposed to be nice,
but it loves you madly,
with a cosmic
irrecoverable
kind of love
that can jolt the very life
back into the rib cage you live from.
It does it with a tenacity
that is specifically crafted for you.
It will manically whisper
your goddamn worth
back into your essence,
lest you forget,
the sultry visionary
that you are.
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