Not everything sacred needs to be born of suffering.

Not every acknowledgement needs to come from rock bottom.

My love,
you are allowed to feel peace.
You are allowed to live a joyful life.
You are allowed to experience softness and call it sacred.

So stop using your pain as proof of your depth.
It’s time to retire that narrative,
that your pain is the most interesting thing about you—it’s not!
There are hundreds of beautiful reasons for your existence,
but suffering isn’t one of them.

You can explain every scar.
But when it comes to healing?
You stall.
Because healing isn’t poetic.
It’s messy, boring, frustrating.

Peace makes you suspicious.
If things go too well for too long,
your brain starts poking at old wounds or inventing new ones.
You miss the chaos even though you claim to want peace.

But here’s what you need to know;
you’re still becoming.
You’re still growing.
You can still be profound without bleeding for it.

So allow yourself to heal,
and let joy into your life,
because the best version of you isn’t your pain,
it’s your rebirth.

Don't punish your body for carrying the weight of your soul.
You are meant to be alive.

Sappho of the South
Sweetest lips upon my mouth
From Tomboy Casanova
To Soft Butch Jehovah
Stone Top, Touch-Me-Not
To chapstick and Birkenstocks
She’s my Strapping Queen
The only flicker of my bean
Oh, Lavender Menace
I’m on my knees in minutes  
Stud-finder
****-diver
Love-guider
Me-inside-her
Lover’s lips upon my mouth  
Lovely Sappho of the South

My pocket of the world is filled
Of women who know the sound of wisdom on their own tongue
Like stick knows stone like
Honey dripping backwards from the the comb like
Planet knows patience like
Honest-to-Goddess-truth and nothing quieter than that

My heart lives in the home that is Girl and Mother
Wonder and Womb  
Made of all that is alive and
Built by sacred hands

And I want to swim to the Moon and call her my sister
Drink wine with Dawn and
Tell her the myth about Eve
Just to hear her tender laugh
Tell her she is what makes the tides turn
Tell her
I belong to Love!
And Love is a woman!
And there has never been anything more beautiful than that!

Karma's a revolver with a cherry red smile,
dancing in the dark like a ghost gone wild.
She waits under the cloak of stormy skies,
with a perfume of gunpowder, secrets, and lies.
Every sin's a bullet tucked into her dress,
Tell me, are you sure you want to place your bets?
Spinning the chamber with slow caress,
every choice calculated under your duress.
Humming sweet lullabies in the back of your mind,
she's satin and danger, all intertwined.
Pulling the trigger with a wink and a sigh,
you thought you were wanted, but you're just the high.
Ask yourself before you begin:
Can you stomach the cost of the chaos within?
She plays to collect, and so far has yet to miss a debt.
Do you really want to tempt Karma when she's actually Russian roulette?