I’ll be my own witch mother.
Telling myself that I’m only allowed to be upset when all hope dies and nothing is alright.
Only then I can run to the half dead place and scream.
Curse the day that I was born and the days I didn’t die but really tried.

Gently she whispers as I cry:
Have tea, hold on, trust the situation now.
If you can’t and get betrayed, you may still run.
As fast as you can, cry as loud as you must, as determined as ever.
But before that you must wait and see if it’s possible to pull through.

Hold on longer, even longer.
Fight alone but with this whisper in your ear.
Whispers from your own witch mother, gently blowing these words at you.
Guiding you through the torturing night......
Again.

Cause there’s something important that needs for you to stay.
Something truely beautiful waiting as well.
You must stay.
You will stay.
You will hold on.
You can.

It will be done.
It shall as it must.
And it will through the tears, through the pain, through the suffering.
You know it never fully broke your spirit.

Even though it always kept on killing, breaking, shattering, destroying everything for you.
You kept creating a new way.
You can again.
And if not you’re allowed to run, be upset and cause a storm.