I wanted to be someone I was not
To trade my passion for passiveness
To flow instead of destroy
I wanted to glow like the softest of angels,
Ethereal and opalescent beneath impossible constant moonlight
Benevolent beyond ability, kind instead of cunning
I wanted to be the doe, but instead I was a wolf in her skin devouring her wholly
With each season I inhabited a new costume, creating for myself the most glamorous of façades
I took my wisdom and fire, strength and desire and bundled them up in rose petals and sadness
I made darkness my sweetest ally and self destruction my secret lover, falling into its whispers of the poetry of broken souls
But I am not broken
I will not wither in the sunlight and I need no lover
The eager yearnings of a lonely and unanchored girl have dissipated,
My self imposed shackles evaporated in the heat of self acceptance
I no longer wish to be anyone’s greatest love, nor should I enjoy the station of caretaker for all
If I glow it is because my body cannot contain my soullight
I am not made of softness; I am the goddess of destructive growth and harsh healing, exposing your sadness to the bright rays of the sun
I am the fire that burns through falsehoods
I am the passion behind all of creation
I am the feral Crone, a woman in wolf’s skin with a staff of oak and bone
I am the warrior, the blood witch of old
Mistress of the forest temple, priestess of the Akashic web
I am the gatekeeper
I am unending

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