Sometimes I forget
I've done the greater part of-
things I couldn't do

“aficionado artiste”
“compassionate creative”
“enlightened erudite”
“siren singer”
these pearls that spill from your lips…
of course they do, clam that you are.
haven’t you seen Me? a poised performer, strung pearls over every joint
My neck, My wrists, My ankles, My waist—
all the places where bones settle and dust gathers
“heavy is the head that wears the crown,”
but Mine is wrapped in threaded pearl
heavy is the body in the brocade robes,
but Mine floats in tangled pearl

would I swallow pearl, I would sink and drown
but in this pearled net, I cascade in the wake, pulled along

“forgiving friend”
“irreplaceable idealist”
“reinvigorating rarity”
“enigmatic exemplar”
these pearls that fall from your fingers…
of course they do, shuck that you are.
haven’t you seen Me? I glisten, adorned and tangled in pearls.
I must be the most glimmering thing your piteous eyes can witness
with your mangled flesh and shattered shell!

my flesh? i have no flesh.
I became pearl long ago,
but the memory of flesh ensnares me.
i cultivated every single pearl with my own flesh.
i forced them into your mouths, hoping you would swallow them for me
praying you would sink for me
watching you drown for Me—
oh, won’t you drown with me?
swallow my pearls and sink to me,
and pull me back to the surface?
(caught in a net of pearl like this, how can i swim?)
(that body drowned long ago)

if you don’t drown in these lonely depths,
wind these threads around a hook
and pull this empty, pearl-embedded net through the wake.
my flesh is long sunken,
but I can still make your boat beautiful

Bet I’m in the belly of the Beast
With this enemy ofMe
Do I fight or flight or Freeze?

Cause either way
this *******’s
coming straight At me

I was only a dark forest away
From where I needed to be

I never metaphor for anxiety
Like this one
*** Imposter syndrome

Mara’s army fires arrows
Of self-deprication
And self-doubt

And i hit the ground running exhausted
Hot and heavy heaving
To the four-on-the-floor

At the heart of the war…
She was doing yoga in the distance
And as she rose to mountain pose
I let my mind slip back into the prose
Where I fetishized her
Like some sacred ******* object

Caught in the act like Actaeon
Watching The Huntress bathing

Basilisk staring me down
Like Artemis cloaked
In her wild fury

And as she rose to mountain pose...
She held a crescent blade
To the throat of the horizon
Locking her eyes in
As she stood over Gaia’s mouth
Spinning up **** Magick

Earth the power back from the word
She channels power back from the void

From womb to tomb
To womb of the tomb

She creates
She destroys
Her body, Her weapon
Her own ******* choice