Love Thy Neighbor: FOR SALE!

Just like on the back of my super hero cape, you can also own this design to wear with pride anywhere you travel. It’s love is demonstrated for all humans to be and love who they do. Part of the proceeds will go to The Crisis Center in Bristol, TN/VA as a way to give back for their contributions to loving thy neighbor enough to speak out.

Love Thy Neighbor

Gaia, a tribute

Fertile is her breath and blood

To shower the world’s full girth

With lusty creations bursting forth

To populate her earth

She blooms and blossoms, swollen up

To share new life through birth

We belong beneath the laughing light

Of her full figured mirth

She rules the night, on the moon she rides

As sure as change and flooding tides

The heavens obey her slightest command

Maelstrom storms as she demands

With strength and ferocity she stands her keep

At day she rests but doesn’t sleep

Shout prayers of joy surrounding her

As swollen as she stands

Upon the past and future time

Through the hourglass of sands.

To Honor Kali

The Goddess Kali-ma

The Goddess Kali-ma

I hear her voice as twinkling smooth as wine

Her lips sparkling words like silver sweet

Precious in their divine

Guiding hands to keep me warm with a caresses gentle bliss

Heated breath of her lover’s mouth emblazoned with her kiss

I walk with her on star-lit roads

I hear her sigh the night

I hear a tiny cricket’s call

The wisp of an owl in flight

I smell the scent of impending rain

The trickle of a nearby stream

The blush of moon blessed breezes

Floating through my dreams

Intimate imaginings spring forth in passions song

Spooned soft against my lover’s thigh

Eternal night prolonged

Pressed tight with lust to feed at her breast

I feel the release of my birth

I respond to her smoldering touch

I’m embraced within her earth

Common Enemy

povertyinamericaWe have a common enemy

That hands out shackles of poverty

As Mistresses and Masters of iniquity

Provoking our inequalities

Promoting the division of you and me

Which adds dollars to their bloated prosperity

While we fill their sales on their corporate sea

With no trickle down reciprocity

I work for them and they give to me

Silver pieces for my soul adding up to forty

Which they take back in taxes from me

While claiming this the “Land of the Free”

Then they take food and shelter from our progeny

Claiming that we’re, simply, “Just lazy.”

Women’s Immortality

HeLa: The Immortal Henrietta Lacks (1920-1951)

HeLa: The Immortal Henrietta Lacks (1920-1951)

Where are the women who are unafraid to be the equal of men? To stand as their creators? To be burdened with their mortality? For we, as women, as mothers, are immortal. We have been granted a power that all humans must acknowledge, particularly the men who use oppression and tyranny to impose their version of self-righteous piety while pillaging villages, pockets, and people who birthed them.

We were blushed into passivity through vile and violent means. Our voices taken by violations against our bodies, against our spirits, against the essence of our glorious contribution. The Patriarchy discounts their birth by denying the truth of their own creation. They refuse to honor, as Maya Angelou sasses, that we dance like we have diamonds at the meeting of our thighs.

We are their creators. We are their equals. We are the Light of the Goddess; the vessels of her beauty in all of her forms with billions of names sprung free from the lips of our tribes, our people, our neighbors and families. We are immortal by the generous fruit we produce in our tree of life. We are the basis for their power, the support for their child-like steps.

They are not cruel and unforgiving of us because we are women, oh no. They know we are without end. They know we last longer than they. Their deaths will come before our own. Their genes become as muddied as their jeans, but the Matriarch will be the crown of their history. They want to hide her away as, according to the Mormon’s beliefs, God does his wife. So sacred is her name, or so I’ve been told, that even God will not speak her name to anyone else for fear they would desecrate that which he loves above all others. He holds her sacred, not as a less than in the equation.

My sisters, take heed the power of your name as the Matriarchs of ancient history have spoken. You are the power of the Universe embodied in physical form, freed of your heritage, embraced by your sister-kin, released from the shackles of Patriarchy if we choose to leave in unison.

We are not meek and mild. We are fierce and protective. We have allowed ourselves to become divided into separate distinctions instead of unified. We have been torn down to be seen only as ornaments, only as decorations, only as status symbols but not valued for our true selves. Our strength, our courage, our power, our voice, our very being is to be embraced, celebrated, lifted up in the arms of our sisters standing proudly by our sides.

We are the Alpha and the Omega of their mortality. We are the embodiment of The Goddess.

Lumpy Bumpy boob job?

We all look the same on the inside, ladies.

We all look the same on the inside, ladies.

Tonight I went to the gas station to get an energy drink for the morning. On the counter was a large baby bottle with the words, “Help Jenna get a BOOB job” in glittery stickers. It was for the girl behind the counter. This young woman has the most sparkling eyes, kind spirit, and white straight teeth that light up her face when she smiles. I’ve not heard her ever say an unkind word to even the jerks that come into that place regularly.

When the store was clear, I asked her why she wanted a boob job.

“Well I kind of want it, my boobs are too small. And my boyfriend wants bigger boobs.” she said with a shy smile.

“What’s the matter with your beauty now?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I guess I just don’t see it. It’s a carry over from childhood.”

“You can choose not to buy into that any more, you know that right?” I inquired.

“I don’t know. It just followed me into adulthood.” She said as she waited on the next customer.

When she was done with the customers I stepped back up to the counter. “I do speeches on body image,” I stated to her astonishment. “I don’t understand how you can’t see your beauty.” She actually blushed. I described her kindness, her friendliness, her smile, her compassion, her vibrancy to her. She refused my compliments with a gentle hand set up in front of her.

“So I, and everyone else that compliments you, are liars?” I asked.

“I think so.” She answered me plainly.

“Don’t you think it odd that so many people would tell you the same lie, but you still can’t believe that it’s true?”

“I didn’t think of it that way.” She said while helping someone else. After the customer left, I stepped back up to the counter.

“Your body is just a shell,” I tell her with passion in my voice. “Who you are is not what your boob size is, or what size pants you wear. Beauty is found in the love, compassion, joy, and kindness found within your shell. You are beautiful just the way you are. Nobody can change that about you but yourself. A boob job isn’t going to do what you think it will for your self esteem. If you find love for others, then you must love yourself first. You can’t give someone an empty plate and tell them it’s a steak dinner.” When I realized she was shocked, I stepped back and said that I would see her another time.

What is wrong with women? Seriously? Your body, your temple, your shell, whatever you want to call it, is going to die. It’s not real. The labels of mother, daughter, sister, aunt, friend, cousin…professional anything…those are just titles given when you’ve unlocked a new level (geek speak there). The truth is found within, not on the outside.

Think of it this way, I read a quote that asked the question, “Of all the thoughts that race through your head, who is the one that observes those thoughts?” Who are you really? You are perfectly you. That’s who you are. Love yourself. How? By looking past what you’ve been told or how someone spoke to you you can find the truth in yourself. Everything that has happened to you is your history. It doesn’t have power over you unless you give it power.

I was told that my nose was too wide. I was told I had kind hair; the kind that belonged around a dog’s ass. I was told I was a slut. I was told I was pregnant all the time. I was told I wasn’t worth anything but sex. I was told I was worthless. I was told I wouldn’t grow up to be worth anything. Lessons of my imperfections repeated over and over again. For many years, I bought into that pack of lies. I believed myself to be a bad person. I hated everything about who I saw in the mirror. I began a cycle of self destruction trying to quench my own spirit.

Here’s where the cool part comes in: I woke up one morning and thought, “Mare, this isn’t who you are or how you need to be living your life. You will no longer need anything like that.” And I quit everything, just like that. I just didn’t need it. With the help of a kick ass therapist, I waded through the bullshit pond that had accumulated over my true self. I found the plug, let the water of sins wash down the drain. Then I began cleaning up the mess I’d left behind myself.

Those words I was told so many years ago no longer hold any power. I forgave the people who hurt me with them. Until I see another woman where I was, I don’t even think about them any more. The problem is, I keep seeing women who think that having the perfect nails, tan, car, or whatever is going to bring them the happiness they need. There is nothing in this world that will make you happy but yourself. You are responsible for your own happiness. If you’re not happy, change what you’re doing, get rid of the negative talk in your head by hearing your spirit. How? Just be still. Listen. Let the rest of the garbage flow down the drain. Allow your true self to shine through. Find peace. Find love. Find compassion. Find joy. Revel in your perfection and imperfections that are truly unique to you.

Namaste.

Girlish Ribbons: TRIGGER WARNING

This may cause some discomfort who have suffered from trauma and further, may cause discomfort in those that have not experienced this. In my personal life, I feel raw and violated due to circumstances of which I have no control. I am regarding another time in my life when I felt this way because currently, I’m unable to deal with recent events without turning to past emotions for reference. I am strong. I will make it through. I will win and succeed because that’s my destiny. In the mean time, I write not so pleasant and work through the not so pretty.

Before cutting was glamorous and utterly common
I showed my wounds without spilling bloody ribbons
I displayed my afflictions with self-violence abloom
Tacked to my flesh in kaleidoscope bedrooms
Begging for love, praying for forgiveness on my knees
With my eyes looking upward into those of my savior
With a little “s” and his little “o” appreciating my prayer
I rejected that which defined my “child”hood
Defined my worth from knee to waist, absorbed my youth
Sponged in sweat, punctuated with a God I knew didn’t exist
Because if he did, he surely wouldn’t have taken my sacred
And violated it upon the altar of evil in the name of my father
A likeness of god himself, would he? I did not believe.

The Queen of Heaven

The halls of the House of Heaven are adorned with blood of Her children
Refused the white alabaster once crested with silver, gold, and lapis lazuli
Now flowing with the blood of Her prostitutes, their pearls crimson with chaos
Surrender is refused, rejected, removed from the battle to prove submission
To offer power in glorious vestments rising from the throne of iniquity with grace
Descending into redemption with the drip of silk slithering with sequins suspended
The Queen of Heaven requires no sacrifices because She IS the sacrifice to death

Inanna Mine

She is the lioness with thorns in her feet, dripping orgasmic lust into her champions
Revealing and reveling in her descent to retrieve her consort, her soul, her spirit
Upon the landing in front of the gates of her Dark Sister’s kingdom, she is bared
With defiance only a sister can offer to the darkness within, she stands demanding
Intolerably thrusting her power of persuasive requests until intervention is required
She lays the last of her rosettes, her eight pointed star, at her sister’s feet
Bargain struck, The Lady of Uruk returns to her battled halls in the House of Heaven
The seven gates of the underworld reversed, laid bare of masks and protections
Enthroned within power, she alights with her scepter, a hook shaped twisted knot of reeds
She remains victorious over death, over the underworlds within, over the rape of her holiness

All Grown Out: TRIGGER WARNING!!!

I was sent a link to this video by a friend of mine. It punched me really hard in the face, but in an inspirational way. I pulled up Word and started writing in time to the video. Some of this isn’t in there, some of it is, but it made me think about reactions and how others deal with trauma.

Every one of my dolls had genitalia
Carved into their bodies
Testament to that 10% I couldn’t see
Of that 100% “friendship” he promised me
And the 90% of his misogyny
Bloomed rottenly
Beneath his alleged kindness
That made my body feel good
But my soul feel dirty, covered in blood
Take your foot off from my neck
But MAN-ipulation made me beg
Without cognition,
For the shame
And guilt to rule me and to reign
PTSD
An unforeseen eulogy,
That mourned what I could never be
I wouldn’t be as stupid as her
I would never wear that
I had to divide my attentions
From those that “came out”
Separating myself from the victims
Because I said repeatedly
“It will never happen to me.”
When it did, I couldn’t say
Because of how they’d see me “that way”
You know him
Not a stranger in the bushes
With a weapon
My boyfriend, husband, acquaintance
Breaking my trust, my faith, my beliefs, my body
And my stunned silence fights back
But there is “Nothing we can do”
Say the police, my friends, my family
That couldn’t happen to me
I wasn’t ready
I said no
I didn’t want it
I put away those dolls from my childhood
Stained with my innocence
Refused by me because they allowed
Me to violate their bodies
Just like mine.

These Are My People: Shonda

No More Violence

No More Violence


Tyrannical howls encapsulated
Intent on the destruction
Of their mutated version of devotion
personified by shattered glass while
screaming babies witness the impressionistic home
Painted in blood and bruises.
Kill me first! Kill me! Kill me first!
The begging screams for relief
from their suffering
But, fear motivates shelter
in uninhabitable relationships
with violence the language spoken
in vehement protest against their being
broken people with broken lives.