#lilith
succumb to your desires,
your Lilith.
succumb to me,
and all my little games.
release your inner darkness
and dance around our paradise
with lack of accountability
or morality.
surrender to lust,
crawl to me, you’re at my use.
my leisure.
now fix your smeared lipstick,
so i can ruin you again.
you are my favorite game,
and we’re just getting started.
Mar 31, 2022
Mar 31, 2022 at 7:04 AM UTC
You are pathology incarnate
The sweat on your brow trick of the light
You were the first female
But you are no woman
Just a beast in the shape of a girl
Plucked one year before ripeness
A major at everything
A minor one way
Your eyes betray your true nature
Sharp, louche and depravity reined
Soot-yellow and one dollar green
Some might call it hazel
I call it dirt against your aryan gold hair
If you offered me fruit
I’d force myself to take a bite
So my soul won’t witness my guts feasted in the gutter
Carnivorously carnival-carved cadaver
Stamped under your cigarette-stained heels
Cherry cola chipped out of chapped lips
Cos I didn’t dare take a chockfull
You’re the first girl who has ever touched me
But I’m just the fly on your fruit
Lilith Haefelin
The girl before Eve.
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 11:33 PM UTC
tell me how to strip off this breastplate
and dress myself in pure, lace bodice
washed in all shades of subservience,
when lilith herself taught me
to bare to no man —
bow to no man.
the soil of these lands are built on liberation;
your ribs stake no claim
to what they do not own.
they merely return to dust and ashes —
the very material
of the land you betrayed —
the land you watched burn down,
and i'll tell you this:
this land, it will drift, shake, crumble
to create a catacomb big enough
for all the deaths
you deserve.
honey, this is no prophecy.
this is no threat.
this is justice out of the ribs
of those who'd fallen;
this is justice at the hands of the oppressed.
Jun 5, 2020
Jun 5, 2020 at 2:53 AM UTC
Within the promise land of calm and sound
Pearls found harbor on coarse, finite-like sand
Now whitened by the faces of the drowned
****** by the berserk billows as they stand
Willows frown upon the unjust waters
Whose surface's frozen in a dreamlike blur
Cradling ghostly hollows like coy daughters
In tender whispers as always, they were
And the world bowed down its head in silence
As Lilith raised the rose of thorns in hand
"My children hearsed in tombs of violence;
my children to be salvaged!" she demand
But nevermind the promised neverland
—No one ripens from their so-called homeland
Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 6:14 AM UTC
God has always come
Back a woman.
Long before
there was a Jesus,
Eve stood in a Garden
And tried to correct
Her brother's sin;
She was Lilith then.
She packed her bags,
And strolled off to
the mountains to be
with whomever she
So chose; She left
God and Adam to
Figure it out:
The lie the would tell;
The creature they would
Blame;
The clothes.
Yes, God has come
Back multiple times,
And in multiple screaming,
Female forms..
She came back as
All the Dahomey
Women, The Amazons,
Salem Witches, Big Mommas
Abuelas
And midwives.
God has. Had an endless
Universe of
lives.
She even came back a
a little Jewish girl;
Stowed away in an attic
During the Holocaust.
In India she came as
Phulan. In Africa
She came as Winnie,
In Argentina, Chadron.
While men may name
their legends, myths
and fables, just as
Adam did.
God has.never.had
Names and titles
In mind;
Every time a girl
takes a breath she is
reborn, she is there
Carrying revolutions
In her silences and
eternity in her hair.
She will come back
A fire next time.
May 24, 2019
May 24, 2019 at 11:01 AM UTC
Ask not why I'm not yet wed
but hope I am happy instead
Wish I may never blindly be led into a life of regretful dread
Celebrate self love is always enough
Know I am a true diamond in the rough
Behold, I am too strong, too bold
to settle for anything less than gold
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 7:20 PM UTC
If you're a patient in a hospital, wouldn't you want to know
exactly how many people have died in the room
you're currently sleeping in?
How many hearts have stopped beating, how many
lungs have deflated, how many
pupils have stopped responding to light—
how long CPR was
performed before
Time of Death
was called?
How many DNR patients waltzed into the afterlife
without so much as a half-hearted chest compression?
Ribs can break during CPR.
How many cracked ribs have echoed
across the walls of your
hospital room?
x
Eve was made from Adam's rib.
God plucked the bone and
fashioned it into a
subservient woman to
replace the wild one,
the first one, the no good one,
the woman made from the same soil as Adam:
Lilith.
x
We break ribs, break wishbones, break most things we don't understand. A confused patient will take out his IV, his PICC line, even pull at his chest tube or his LVAD driveline.
If it doesn't make sense, we will try to eliminate it in the sake of
normality.
x
Some time in August, we had two codes within one hour. After 30 or so minutes of chest compressions, they pronounced the second man dead. He wasn’t my patient that night, and I didn’t know him. I think his ribs snapped under Alyssa’s hands when she tried to revive him.
And what does that feel like? Not just the desperate rush of adrenaline,
of trying to bring someone back to life—not just the emotional,
but the physical of it all.
The cracking of the bone beneath the heels of your hands.
Your fingers laced on top of each other
pounding and
pounding and
pounding
against the sternum.
One, two. One, two. One, two.
The bone cleaves in half.
And how much pressure does it take?
I’m sure science could tell us, but
how does it feel in your arms, in your shoulders—
will your muscles remember the strength it takes and
stop you next time?
x
How hard did God have to try when he ripped out
Adam's rib to make Eve? And
how long did it take Adam to recover from the loss?
(Maybe he never did.)
x
Healthcare is still so barbaric. You must hurt to help.
Saw through the sternum to get to the heart.
Insert a painful tube to remove the excess fluid.
Drill through the skull and remove
potentially useful brain matter.
I have nightmares of tripping over IV tubing and
ripping out PICC lines. I am terrified of
dropping someone's chest tube on the floor,
of it ripping violently out of their lungs.
It's not my blood, it's some else's,
and that makes it so much worse.
Being responsible for another human's well-being
is actually terrifying.
I just want to be helpful. I don’t want to hurtful. But so often,
I find myself damaging the ones I love.
x
I would rather have my brain-dead sternum sawed open than
rot in some hole in the ground like my mother if it
would mean that I could be useful.
And all we really want is to be useful.
To feel something. To be something.
To be proud like the original sin.
Remove my ribs. All 24 of them.
Make them into several new women with
several new names and
faces and
eye colors and
skin colors.
Their lives would be more beneficial than my death ever could be.
Like Eve with Lilith, replace the bad, with the seemingly good.
Replace the soil with the body.
It all has to come from somewhere.
x
How to keep the self close and yet distant from trauma.
Dec 11, 2017
Dec 11, 2017 at 2:52 PM UTC
the fiery glowing hair of lilith
the glowing azure eyes of her beauty
her silken white porcelain skin entrances thee
let her magic & power enthrall those around her
as she dances the sacred mystical dance of eroticness and ecstasy
let her not be ashamed of her true nakedness and swift moves of her
tantalizing body embrace those
Sep 7, 2017
Sep 7, 2017 at 10:40 PM UTC
Under the blanket
Of the cloak of night
I tended my garden
I reached for the seeds of the stars of night
And drew them down to Earth
To relish them forever
Sweet fruits, apples, and pomegranates
And rose buds in bloom
Permeated the air like sweet incense
I fed myself of the beautiful trees
Which grew too numerous to count
But nightmares arose from deep within
When I slumbered beneath the tree
I dreamt of falling
Fleeing to the ocean's depths
My bones were brittle
And my face was covered
In filth and stench
From roving in the desert
My hair was matted
And my eyes bulged from their sockets
My tears were running dry
I did not deserve this torment
~
So I sank and saught the truth
~
The bottoms were pleasantly beautiful
I befriended monsters there
And remember the seaweed
Toying with my hair
In time, I arose as Mother of the Sea,
As Venus
Yet another garden was claimed by me
And I harkened to their call
To come to know
This destiny of mine
~
I swelled in the gardens of others
Until I needed to return
When the student is ready
Their teacher appears
And I am a willing student of life!
~
That's when I saw him from afar
And my world would change forever
I peeked at him through the willows
He was shining iridescence itself
I've met others like him before
If I knew what was in store
Would I still approach?
Knowing me, probably!
He whispered that I was a wanted woman
He's the first that saw my soul as true
Everyone else misunderstood
Or feared my intentions
Towards them
While I hungered for fruits
I could never receive again
~
I am barred from the land by the river
Why would He do this to me?
The Universe's eyes aren't shut
And have 20/20 vision
His servant always maintained sure distance
From his most prized possession
~
He gave me his cloak
A garment of protection
The dark night
And elevated me thusly
I took on another form
As beautiful as any
I vowed not to harm his Master's garden
~
So I tended mine
With stars of night
And rain and snow
With bountiful deer and squirrels
If I knew the curses thrown
Would I have stayed in the sea
If I knew that ruling the skies of night
Would bring this upon me
I would still stay where I am today
I how this seventy tomes seven
~
My garden bears fruit gloriously
But I long to bring honor
To my garden
By making his mandrakes
My own
~
All hail to these
Three times three
~
The first pear I tasted
The first apple that fell
The first time I glowed
And knew the Never - Uttered
~
... the longing to be like Him! ...
.... the pang to be His mandrake!....
The love we once shared
Please, God
Give me one more
Bite!
~
Lord, what have I done?
He raised me up
And I dragged him down
Now we must spend eternity this way
In foxholes and carcasses
Always dying to relive the recent past
When morning glories were my favorite flower
~
... he shielded me
And I was cast away from the Garden
And it's fruits forever
I wander the desert once again
But this time
I am not alone
~
We roamed...
He offered me a desert flower
And bade me to plant
From it sprang a river stream
To sustain our coagulating blood
It did not satisfy
We fell
And in each other's eyes we found the key
To drown out exile' s realities
I saw the sun's rays in his eyes again
The dark nights will not be gloomy anymore
The Name of God is no longer a four letter word
We fell down
Again and again
And the more we fell
The more, before our eyes
This garden
Our garden
Grew
~
We tended our garden
Until then
~
Contemplating on Jehovah
Grieves my heart
Until it rips open and I spill my blood
The animals retreat
My plants for
Because my blood has been spilled
Innocent blood
Within my own garden
My lover has left
My night lamp
To become the hunt
And perish
For the unspoken
Uncherishef
. The defiled .
We will never share our garden
Again evermore
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 10:04 AM UTC
The flower of womanhood.
You are like no flower,
you are a snake.
A cobra
with your head *****
ready to strike.
And stricken was I.
The apple of my eye.
Out of reach,
bittersweet
Like the honey-apple
I've never tasted.
But when in reach
you are still no joy,
for your taste is forbidden,
and cast from the Garden
was I.
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 6:15 PM UTC
If the Sacred Fire of Vesta went out, it meant one of two things:
meant
1. Rome was in danger;
meant
2. A Vestal ****** a guardian of the flame, was having ***
Chastity and fire
are two attributes that are directly correlated. If one is lost,
the other will follow. Trust me. This is fact:
only ****** women
can be celebrated.
The ****** Mary,
the ****** goddesses,
the way **** was seen as a crime
against the father, not the daughter:
women
must
remain
pure.
Do not eat the pomegranate seeds,
do not touch the fruit of knowledge. A
statue of a young boy
holding an apple
does not hold
the same connotation
as a woman holding an apple. Offering it to a man who
could have refused. Getting blamed for the fall from Eden.
A woman
with a snake draped around her body is not Eve,
is Lilith, but it’s close enough. They are both to blame for
all the evils of the world, so what does it really matter anyway? Women
are more susceptible to wavering in their faith in God,
to worshipping the devil, to practicing witchcraft—
The flames are out. Rome is not safe. A ****** is buried
alive for her sin. Lilith is slaughtering women in childbirth.
Babies are dying. A man is celebrated for his multiple
lovers. **** shaming in 79 AD. The beds in Pompeii
brothels are made of stone. St. Cecilia is face down in the
dirt. Women on the same level as slaves, if not lower. The
goddess Vesta as a housewife.
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 10:47 AM UTC
I torment the salt of the earth,
~"Who am I?"~
Eat up the children from unholy birth,
~"Who am I?"~
The ravens caw and come to pick,
~"Who am I?"~
Off woeful ones that I've made sick,
~"Who am I?"~
See travelers on the road of pain,
~"Who am I?"~
Rider on the clouds drive you insane,
~"Who am I?"~
I'm coming for you, I'm coming quick,
~"Who am I?"~
My art deception, my craft, -the trick...
~...Anatu...~ *
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 10:23 AM UTC
All will be lost,
And all will be found
once again when you are not looking.
But I can never not look.
It is the bane of my existence.
I survive on the meeting of eyes,
the nod of heads,
the shake of necks.
All is well,
as long as you keep your distance.
So don't come near.
Enjoy the looks, the smiles, but never think about touch.
I will burn you as soon as skins make contact.
I promise you,
I will make your body a living hell.
I will turn your soul into ash.
I am the Lilith's daughter,
You don't know what I am capable of.
I fend for myself.
I do not need your pity.
I don't need you.
You may stay in the fringes for the time being,
But when it is time for you to leave,
Leave and never look back,
Never think back,
Never talk back,
never never...
I am Lilith's daughter,
You don't know what i'm capable of
Keep your words
Keep your love, if that's what you want to call it.
Keep anything you could offer me.
Nothing you can give me will make me satiated.
I am so much more.
I am the Lilith's daughter,
And you don't know what I'm capable of.
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 4:44 PM UTC
1611: Emilia Lanier became the first Englishwoman to publish and collect patronage from her original poetry with the publication of fifteen poems, all about or dedicated to particular women, in her “booke,” titled in Latin, Hail, God, King of the Jews. She was the fourth woman in England to publish her poetry, but the first to demand payment in return for it. The first to see herself as equal to the paid male authors of the era.
This was the same year that the King James Bible was first printed. This was eight years after the death of Queen Elizabeth I. This was 180 years after nineteen-year-old Joan of Arc was burned at the stake.
+
The Querelle des Femmes is “the woman question.”
Frenchmen of the early fifteenth century created a literary debate: what is the role and the nature of women? Is it stemmed within a “classical” model of human behavior; gnarled and rooted with misogynistic platonic tradition? Should women actually be allowed into politics, economics, and religion? There are scholars that say this debate radiated across several European countries for three centuries before finally fizzling out.
But it is still there; has crossed
continents, has crossed oceans, is sizzling, sparking up fires, flaring out
into the night, leeching onto the trees, onto buildings, onto people, onto
anything flammable. It is burning down monarchs and their thrones. It is
raking back the blazing coals.
Exposing the charred corpses.
Proving their death.
Burning and burning and burning them
twice more to prevent the collection of relics.
It is chucking the ashes into the Seine River.
Lilith: who was made at the same time, at the same place, from the same earth, from the same soil as Adam, got herself written out of the Bible because she thought herself to be Man’s equal. Because she got bored of the missionary position. Because she wanted to be on top during *** Lilith was replaced in the book of Genesis with a more-or-less subservient woman that was made from the rib of man instead of the same dirt and dust. She was replaced with a woman that Adam named “Eve.” She was replaced with a woman who served as nothing more than the scapegoat for Man’s downfall.
The original Querelle des Femmes.
+
1558-1603: Queen Elizabeth I ruled England in what is considered to be a masculine position. Although a woman can take the throne, can wear the crown, can wield the scepter, can run the country, the actual divine task that goes along with being a part of the monarchy, being a god on Earth, is thought to be the duty of a man.
Nicknamed The ****** Queen, Elizabeth never married,
never found a proper suitor,
never produced a direct Tudor heir,
(but this is not to prove that she was a ******
Chastity, especially of women, is a virtue. ((To assume that she never had ***
simply because she never married
is another Querelle des Femmes.))
For nearly forty-five years, Queen Elizabeth I did not need a man by her side while she lead England to both relative stability and prosperity; did not need a man by her side while she became the greatest monarch in English history.
She held the rainbow, the bridge to God, in her
own small hands just fine.
+
Saturday, February 24, 1431: Joan of Arc was interrogated for the third time in her fifteen-part trial in front of Bishop Cauchon and 62 Assessors. During her six interrogation sessions, she was questioned over charges ranging from heresy to witchcraft to cross-dressing.
At age twelve Joan of Arc began seeing heavenly visions
of angels and saints and martyrs;
age thirteen she began hearing the Voice of God—was told to
purify France of the English, to make Charles the rightful king—
age sixteen she took a vow of chastity as a part of her divine mission.
When the court asked about the face and eyes
that belonged to the Voice, she responded:
*There is a saying among children, that
“Sometimes one is hanged for speaking the truth.”*
Joan of Arc was declared guilty and was killed by the orders of a Bishop during a time when men were beginning to question the role and nature of women in society. They thought women to be deceitful and immoral. Innately thought Joan of Arc to be deceitful and immoral. (Perhaps she was one of the catalysts for the Querelle in the first place.)
((The church blamed Eve for the
fall of mankind. Identified women as
temptation:
the root of all sins.))
Twenty-five years later she was declared innocent and raised to the level of martyrdom.
The Catholic Church stood back,
saw the blood,
the ashes,
the thick smoke and stench of burned body that
covered their hands, their clothes,
their neurons, their synapses;
a filth that couldn’t be washed off by Holy water—
can’t be washed off by Holy water.
Four hundred and seventy-eight years later Joan of Arc was blessed and gained entrance to Heaven. Four hundred and eighty-nine years later she was canonized as a saint.
+
Lines 777-780, “Eve’s Apology in Defense of Women,” Emilia Lanier, 1611:
*But surely Adam can not be excused,
Her fault though great, yet he was most to blame;
What Weakness offered, Strength might have refused,
Being Lord of all, the greater was his shame…*
Adam, distraught and angered that his first wife, Lilith, had flew off into the air after he had refused to lay beneath her, begged God to bring her back. God, taking pity on his beloved, manly, creation, sent down three angels who threatened Lilith that if she did not return to Adam, one hundred of her sons would die each day.
(This is where the mother of all Jewish demons
merges with the first wife of Man.)
She refused, said that this was her purpose: she was
created specifically to harm newborn children. This legend,
dated back to 3,500 BC Babylonia, describes Lilith as a
winged feminine demon that
kills infants and endangers women in childbirth.
In the Christian Middle Ages, Lilith changed form once more:
she became the personification of licentiousness and lust,
she became more than a demon, she became a sin in herself. Lilith
and her offspring were seen as succubae, were to blame for the
wet dreams of men. Taking it a step further, Christian leaders then
wed Lilith to Satan;
charged her with
populating the world with evil,
claimed she gave birth to
one hundred demonic children per day.
Lilith is considered evil in the eyes of the church because she was insubordinate to Adam. Both she and Eve are considered disobedient; are too willful, too independent in the way that Lilith wanted to be on top and Eve wanted to share a knowledge that Adam could have refused. They are perceived as a threat to the divinely ordered happenings that men see to be true.
Men wrote the history books because only their interpretation was right.
Emilia Lanier writes:
*Yet Men will boast of Knowledge, which he took
From Eve's fair hand, as from a learned Book* (807-808).
The Querelle des Femmes is not just a literary debate in the fifteenth century. It is a way of life. It is the divine portion of Queen Elizabeth I’s job being fit for men, and men alone. It is Joan of Arc being a woman and hearing the Voice of God; it is Joan of Arc being burned three times by the same Catholics that revered in Jesus, a man who, too, heard the Voice of God. It is Lilith being deemed a demon for not wanting to have *** in the missionary position. It is Eve having to apologize in the first place for sharing the apple, for sharing knowledge with her partner. It is women holding positions of power and yet still feeling powerless to men.
The Querelle des Femmes is wanting to use gender
to keep one group of people above another. The Querelle des Femmes
is continually thinking that the ***** is greater than, but
never equal to, the ****** The Querelle des Femmes is
not understanding the difference between
*** and gender
in the first place.
The Querelle des Femmes is me,
burning your dinner and telling you to eat it anyway.
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 12:14 PM UTC
I would rather be cast aside
Than live my life forced to abide
By what you want from me
By what I'm expected to be
My body is not yours to take
It's mine to give
It's my choice to make
So don't **** me when I turn away
And say "not now" I mean never again.
My body is a gift to give
Receive it as such
And bless it with grace
A temple of truth
A body of trust
To use it against me is far too much.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 5:16 PM UTC