You treat me bad I'm out the **** door
You want me bad- I'm not yours anymore

Worship the weird, the strange, the different.
Look at the fine similarities and recognize them as your own.
Pull closer to yourself the things that intrigue you,
breathe new life into old and profoundly forgotten corners.
Explore deeply.

Although I've, in the past, twisted myself around like climbing vines to maintain such subtle nuances of attraction, I am no longer comprised of flexible xylem and phloem.  I cannot twist and turn and tighten around you.  I have becomes as the great willow tree- strong, immovable, but still so capable of creating shelter and safety.

There are depths and heights that we could climb to, unseen memories half-moments from birth.  We could recreate ourselves, spin until we are no more- and begin again.

Build altars to gluttonous self care, putting your wants and desires before that of your oppressors.  Sing songs to your plump heart, overflowing with love and fed with abundance.  Screech and cackle and shout with womb and belly shaking laughter.  Never doubt the effectual magnitude of your magic.

Trauma is so frequently likened to a wound- one which we instinctively wish to heal, and especially in the 'quick n easy' culture of today, with swiftness.  Trauma does not follow the rules of flesh and bone.  It is buried deep within our recesses and can often feel like it has become a part of us.  In our horror we did and dig trying to pull it out of us, but it is as molecules fused together.   This is why we must tend to our traumas with much patience and tenderness.  This is why we must tend to each other with much patience and tenderness.  This is why we must tend to oppression (and especially those directly under the siege of) with much patience and tenderness.  Trauma is swift and lingering and effects us all.

You're creepin under my skin like a shiver of recognition
You're getting right on in like you're a part of my nervous system