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The Particular Poison That Is Me: A Promise from a...

The Particular Poison That Is Me: A Promise from a Loud-Mouthed Woman

Tonight, I have set aside my demure ways in the name of blood justice, decidedly leaving my black frills and red jewels in a heap by the hearth. My lipstick is smeared in just the right places. My weapons are chosen, and I am closing the door on anonymity and ease. Tonight, I invoke the holy huntress and take to the road, seeking out that grown-over, unmapped boundary between institutionalized corruption and the most egregious crimes against humanity; this is my prey’s domain, the tortured stomping grounds of the loathsome creature I now seek having reached an inescapable plateau in my Craft.

We have met before, this monster and me. I opened my green eyes wide to its depravity when the old men with white collars put their hands on me in the church basement to cast the demons out, setting down their stained-with-age styrofoam cups to warn me that Lucifer’s wings were wrapped around my baby bones and bidding me to submit to a god I did not believe in. This was the night that birthed the Witch in me, a crucible of misogyny dripping with uninspired prayer, an unrighteous ritual of cowardly indoctrination and feigned pity. It was their voices that barked verses, their hands that shook with the power of a spirit they called holy, but it was my most hunted monster who pulled their strings from the shadows of the place where my bare and bloody feet now stand.

Come out, you wretch. I’ve been waiting for you. Never before have I been so strong; you won’t recognize the musk and the mettle that is mine. There is no trace of the malleable one you once knew, and her freckles have faded in the dark night of her soul. Do battle with me, beast. Fight fairly for once since your ancient birth. I am not crouching in the corner any longer. I am standing in plain sight and without armor. Surely, such a hard-edged and formidable creature as you cannot fear a warm-blooded Witch like me.

I wait, poised to strike. I wait, and I list the weaknesses possessed by my singular foe. It has no eyes, for even the most insidious and depraved creature could not commit such soul-crimes if it could see the faces of the innocent twisted in the unending anguish caused by its will. It is slow-moving, so tethered to the past that it is incapable of learning anything that might prompt it to question its origins. A compassionless creature, this thing. My enemy can see only what it knows, dismissing all else as less-than and destined for defeat. It thinks itself a King, you see, all the while blind to those it has claimed to rule since the day of its poorly attended coronation.

I wait, and I list the strengths of this soulless fop. Covered in the thickest skin, it is. Centuries of golden injections have padded its fragile bones with rigid and electrified metal, and its layered walls will not be pierced with even the sharpest blade forged in my hottest cauldron. Though its limbs have nearly atrophied after years of sedentary living and ravenous consumption, its bulbous, solid stomach is immense and insatiable. The monster’s mouth is wide as a mountain’s base, full of jagged-edged teeth and a coiled tongue that unrolls to speak of both liberty and lakes of fire in a single breath; it has learned no new words after ages of a limited vocabulary’s proven success, but I have a word for him now.
Poison.

Sink your teeth into me, King. You will want to spit me out, but my guts will grip the walls of your mouth like parasitic barnacles starved for evil. I will taste like bitter justice and too-hot vindication. My blood is a psychedelic drug, and you will see visions of your golden doors blown apart, wide-eyed children chanting, and bombs disintegrating in anti-climactic puffs of thin smoke. Bite me in the soft places here and here. You know you can’t stand a loud-mouthed woman. I am a blood sacrifice to the darkest Goddess of destruction, and there is no antidote to the particular poison that is me.
Come out, King. I am waiting, growing riper as the red moon rises.

Danielle Dulsky

Danielle Dulsky is a long-time activist for wild woman spirituality and the divine feminine’s return. She is the author of Woman Most Wild (coming May 2017 from New World Library). A multi-media artist, yoga teacher and teacher trainer, and energy worker, Danielle is on a mission to inspire women to be fearless...


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