Her Currency

I did this writing back in June of 2013. I’d probably speak to some things differently at this point but I appreciate some of the still very relevant messaging and questioning. And I’d like the words and creation to have somewhere to live, breathe, and be shared so I am posting here now. Please be mindful of the fact that this writing discusses sexual traumas enacted on the earth and one another. It also has uplifting elements around growth. Take care of yourself by going for a walk, meditating, connecting with a friend, or doing anything else supportive should you struggle upon reading.

6/16/2013

I cock a pen

Penetrating her deep, deep soil hews

Earth serves echoes of Mother dialect

And output my English does best

Her wind caresses me

Her rains cleanse me

And her greens enter me

I am she, and so write her down, I do

Ejaculating her essence in ink

As fucker and fuckee

Because her statement

Is that she is experience

She is womb experience

WE are womb experience

And she will continue to push forth cosmos

While intrusive bombs drop from Her skies

Onto shocked once-happy-heartbeats

And demand drills into her lubricants      

The veins of femininity run deep

Within me

I piss outside giving Mother me

Wash my face in freezing flowing rivers

Let massive pine trees captivate endlessly

Sit still in the silence of her

Talk loudly about my cock, cunt, sex, and feelings

Feelings, yes I have those

I protect others and myself by naming them

Yes

Open opportunity for us to authentically exist

With whatever is going on inside

Whatever I see(,) you see

I heal by her herbs

And respect diversity of beings

I love

I share my heart

I listen to cat meows and birdcalls

Interpreting

And living

Beyond media’s ideas

I pump and pulse to organic feminine

Because I remember raw in dying      

The rape of her ends in death

Her dirt is dead matter breeding

No spirit judgment to transformation

Because in a karmic contract

Growth

Umbilical chords at the base of trees intake nutrients

Without translating

Trunks into rules of paper gain

Via cut this and print that

But rather open to all

Grounded in endless connection

Receptive

To feeding destruction and creative construction

And the unidentifiable

End of a life

Or start of a killing

And not solely the physical            

She knows of rape

Like every other Mother

My Mom, your Ma, theirs

Humans as a whole know

Same as modern consumption

That no-return-after-take place

Depths forced into

Darkness ridden

Power pleasured

Sperm indigested

Lows, depressions, valleys

Mapped and mimicked

In the galaxy of her vaginal caves

And aching, aching veins

That bleed fish unmoving                      

She also knows the linear can’t take the infinite

Because from the darkest soil

With the biggest spoil

The most nourishment

Healthy flowers and leafy pillars

Suppression maintained is unattainable

Shrooms as an example, develop in the negative

Images in–sight from no light

Cultivating Vitamin D

Even without worthy Su(o)n

Give back, she still does                        

As I note the miracle of her treatment-acceptance

Still I need say

She is a daily-martyr for communication

Because every fourth minute lack of consent

And mutilation constant

Care of is for everyone

Intention attention

Because karma comes back in lessons

Accountability in respect

And love, in what our actions have dubbed

Absurd-love

A kind that desires beyond a fuck

A kind that deserves beyond a buck

A kind that breeds life from life

Stokes fire from minds of makers

And breathe

Instead of heads under the impression

“Not enough”                                    

At depths below the skin

Growth pushes from space-black to white bone and back

WE are the soil that produces us

Plus our kin

Mattter(s) made of transmissions

From restrained to free

Over and over again

And from the other direction

Free to restrained

Plus the grey framing

Which has no aiming

Ant in size, yet Goddess in gaming

Begging for different to see

For, you are Mother

From the trash bag you birth

To the way you paint me

Literally and figuratively

Finding embraced nudity

In transparency

Question the Earth womb

You are the womb

Who of the womb are you?

How do you speak about her?

How do you love?

How?

Why?                                  

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