Intuition and compassion combined with knowledge an effective healer make, yet, historically, women applying such skills – labelled witches – burnt at the stake. The
Ancestral circles steeped in lore – symbolism lost, and imminent – Geometric rhythms play with destiny, ascribe fates. (For Willow Poetry’s What Do You See?
I toil in the dreamtime like a night manager in a hotel without walls, catering to clientele – whose needs, so diverse, rattle the rows
Cigarette butts no longer linger concrete, but I swear the cloud of smoke lingers, the sweat of adolescent anxiety – the suffocating pressure to comply
A wounded creature, I circle the pack; A laggard seeking inroads, missing cues; A social wanna be without the smack – This fogged state a
Rock solid, biding time, fixated on a future born of movement. Frozen – iced snapshots of possibility, immobilized by misperceptions Role-playing expectations carved from generations