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The One Who Ate Fearie Fruit

Updated: Feb 2, 2022


The one who ate faerie fruit

was scared at first.

Scary.

But then she asked me to cuddle and

I knew from that moment we’d be fast friends.

Fast to evolve into siamese twins - indistinguishable.

One.

Soulbound.

Deathbound.

I am she.

We. Dance. And play.

I pray.

To you, her, the one who doesn’t understand why pain happens.

Innocence is not ignorance.

To be pretty is to believe in witchcraft and alchemy and singalongs simultaneously.

I do that sometimes.

Sometimes I just hum along, tap my toes and wish someone else would try really hard.

I’m tired and so I rest.

Believing that it is okay to rest right now feels like faith.

If you read poetry while that world burns I believe you are a saint.

Try!

Please.

Together let’s eat dirt!

We can shit out the shit and turn the minerals into crystal starlight.

Please.

Do it with me.

We can.

Covid isn’t a mistake. It’s a call to action - act your call!

Be what your grandmother (the Great Grandmother of the Universe) knows you to be.

A child.

Every human is that - a kiddo learning.

I pray - to the fae, to the mammas of all time, to Kali and Tara and Mother Mary too.

“Be love.”

Well then teach me how!

I can’t do this magic act on my own.

But together - 1,2,3 you and me! - we will probably make this planet a more sustainable, cutie-pie sweet world, where dirt eating won’t kill you.

It will make you stronger.

It’s possible.

I think I need to believe all this - like breathe, like soap, like your smile - I need faith.

I have hope.

Cycles.

I see the spin.

Who am I in a new song?

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