Author: Freegrandmaa

In her fantasy she’s no longer comfortable,
she can’t be here.

They don’t hold space for her.

Oh iridescent flesh,
what do you reveal of me.

This one he
He was my strong lover
He made my body do
what he wanted it to do
and I let him

Leave the door open
I’m sweet, tender, soft spoken
I dance in bits and rows
You’re closer than home
When I’m alone
The wall became our pitter patter phone
You’re next door
Strong so
I’m free to rome

Self-devotion
my loving swollen ticker
what remains after desire fades?

Love, for me, is not an emotion.
It’s a way of being.
A state of mind.
A practice.

Lust teaches me to indulge my darkness.
To play.
To have fun inside it.

Lazuli feels like forehead kisses from the Gods,
a warm star in the void.

The pattern I trust now
is coming back to myself
again and again.

This last cycle taught me the difference between wanting anything
and wanting what is truly meant for me.
Quality over quantity.
Depth over distraction.
No more reaching just to feel alive,
or staying just to avoid the ache of leaving.
Solitude became necessary
the only doorway back into the real me,
the depths most people are terrified to meet.
In the quiet, I heard my own voice again:
the outsider, the freethinker,
the woman who never needed permission to know her truth.
My heart speaks for me now.
My mind and spirit too.
I’m finally listening.
Walking away from distraction returned everything I had leaked:
my attention, my sovereignty,
my erotic self-trust,
my freedom,
my wholeness.
My energy feels different
strong, rooted, unmistakable.
I feel known, even if not fully seen.
I trust myself deeply.
I know who and what I am.
A new version of me is resurfacing
the elder in my spirit,
the one who has died and resurrected enough times
to know her own magic.
The woman who chooses herself first,
without guilt, without trembling.
Silence has been my healer.
The silence between thoughts,
the silence in my home,
the silence inside my body,
the silence in the craters of my heart as they scab.
Silence protects.
Silence reorganizes.
Silence brings me back to life.
And now, I’m guarding my heart differently.
Every lover has taught me how to hold her better
her eagerness, her warmth, her fragility.
I’m protecting her from hardening too quickly,
from reopening old wounds just to see if the sun still rises.
I refuse to go cold.
I refuse to let fear kill my softness.
I refuse to let the past shrink my ability to be touched,
kissed, held, adored, or loved.
Devoted to myself and love.
Fully.
Holy.

I realized,
you can’t reach my soul if you’ve never touched your own. I’ve stopped craving to be understood last year
I’m a “mystery”, because most people are strangers to themselves.
I realized,
only those who’ve met their own depths can meet mine.
I realized,
I’ve been my own muse the whole time.
Silly me.

Her teachers were her lineage,
her spinal fluid,
her saliva.
Her teachers are
impetuous years
and hot skin.

And so she breathed there
satisfied,
honored
and became experiences.

She was the kind of girl
that didn’t have a kind.

She made it clear as day
that she was not from this time.
And you would always catch her
looking for something.

She was the kind of girl
that didn’t have a kind.