POEM. The Ember of Witch You Thought You’d Burned.

An ember of witch you thought you’d burned.

Beyond the angry slur.

The hungry gaze.

You think I’ll crumble?


That is fuel to my fire,

The one that sometimes roars,

Sometimes it’s quiet,

Really quiet.

Eerily quiet.

Until I feel your slur,

See your gaze,

Than I remember I am an ember,

An ember of witch you thought you’d burned.

I am woman.

With a maturity and wisdom that…

Holds from the back line not the front.

Not retaliating off the cuff of your fire,

Unafraid to stand in the Heaven I inhabit.

As I unzip myself from the front,

Letting it all melt away.

Washing off the sleazy gaze,

Your reactive slur,

The blame,

The shame,

The fallacy of what beauty is,

It washes away,

It goes up in smoke,

Because still I rise.

Because I am woman.

I am the ember that never dies.

No thing can penetrate me without my consent.

The deep unfurling of my soul is here to set the world on fire,

Not by my gaze,

My hiss,

My boobs,

My smile,

Or even my pussy.

Beyond my body I am wave,

Pure spirit.

I am here for a new humxn.

My army of special ops who are also embers of the same fire,

They know who they are,

We look through the eyes of the hungry gaze and we see forgiveness.

Our skin sheds and melts into the earth,

And with it every identity,

Endless pursuit,

Every illusion.




And the pure soul emerges,

From deep,

Deep within,

Om shanti,



Our raw,





Knowing exactly who we are and what came here to do,

No longer distracted by the gaze and hiss.

Because I am the ember,

I am woman.

And now I rise.