NO
The word that's trapped in the deepest knot of my stomach.
The word that wants to explode out of my body but instead implodes through the canyons of my soul.
The word that is a panicked bird in a small and dirty enclosure.
The word that screams underwater as it pounds its hands on the glass.
It is not asking anymore. Asking feels like timid virgin white lace.
It is demanding—demanding like an asteroid hitting Earth as the giant fist of the universe throws a justified tantrum.
And yet, it feels dangerous. Like if it should unexpectedly escape my mouth, I will no longer get the right to sit on this white marble throne—that all my subjects and admirers will all at once see that I am not just a pure mountain stream—but also the muddy waters of the Mississippi, of the Ganges.
If somehow, the word should fight its way through the intricate coordination of this phonating instrument, then we shall see.
Perhaps the men in suits of armor will no longer stand before me in adoration.
But perhaps, instead, they will cast away their shields and take a knee in devotion.
The truth of it is—the word is as holy as it is profane.
When it comes from Her lips it is not resisting. It is mother's soft and sturdy arms that show the world that some things are worth protecting.
About the Creator
Katrina Nilsson-Gorman
Katrina is a moon worshiping wild woman with a song in heart and pep in her step. She enjoys travel, photography, facilitating deep and authentic connection, dreaming of running with wolves and is a closet tarot and archetype enthusiast.
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