I have lived through famine, I have gorged to regurgitation on feast.

I have felt the burn of fear of female voice on my feet.

I have cleansed sins in rivers of menses.

I have raped and pillaged my soul whilst being stuck in the loop of the prostitute archetype.

I have felt my bones break through my need to fit in, to sink in, to fit the mould, to be smaller, quieter, less. Less.

Always to be less.

I have cried tears that are not mine to cry, I have carried burdens that were not mine to lift.

I have walked through this life and ones before it with a chip on my shoulder born from the injustice of all the things that were not mine, that should never have been mine but that have been left to me.

I have looked into the depths of the blinding light that is my possibility so many times and I have shirked. I am sorry.

I have abused my sensuality, I have given of myself to those who are not worthy of my glory all in the name of woman.

I have taken from the name of woman.

I have been called.

I can no longer allow the screaming of my soul to go unnoticed and her warnings to go unheeded.

I hear you call me priestess, I hear you call me witch, I hear you screaming at me to shrink back into my box and I want with my whole being to listen, to comply, to be a good girl.

But it’s time.

Reclamation of self, recognition of self, repossession of self, responsibility of self, revolution of self.