A Ritual of Three: A Magic for Happy, Revitalized Spirits
An opening of our ritual minds: I am ready for magic to be done upon me. Hear that, all you good witches of the world?…
Tag: self-esteem
The Strid
It would be a dangerous thing. Dangerous in that it would convince me, perhaps convince others who might take me as an object lesson, that…
And still the dog barks
I don’t know how to respond
to this compliment
which I wrangle into place
by surrounding it
by self-deprecation,
direct their view to the rest of my body governing
these wee, elfin, gnomish hands,
these tiny, childlike empress
earlobes, these miniaturized, precious
bitty feets
being elephantine.
Sluggish. Immorally decadent, extruded
ill-formed
and an asymmetric center askew
from its poles.
Imago Fabulae
Aloneness is not weakness or bravery. It just is. It is a state of self that exists in me now regardless of how many people I share a room or a drink with. It exists in me even when I share and recognize it in others. Even beyond logic. I often crave it even as I’m experiencing it.
Self-Esteem Recipe
Those voices in your head: not all of them are wrong, and on a hard night running, one of them is willing to take charge for a minute and help you power through. Life is so dismal these days. It isn’t bad to sometimes let it work for you.
The Moirae
But I used to be a horse and what it is to run along the water with all of yourself is what it is to live. There’s no metal in your mouth, no guiding hand at your cheek, no bag of sugar cubes or praise for your learned docility. You can pretend you forget what it is to live, but it’s just that, pretend.
Calgon, Take Me Away
My seat, the catbird with the view of the whole busy, tiny trattoria where three waitresses attended to the full crowd, had offered this same view to a thousand other would-be someones. The cobblestones outside had brought a thousand thousand past the doorway.
Robot vs. The Monkey
If it goes, you go, really, with it to the scrap heap. And the robot runs the work, while you nestle without pain into the witch jar of rusted nails and half-broken thumb tacks and sharp memories claimed to be forgotten. You dream in the lemonade, you start floating around with the chili pepper, you burn and reformulate.
And the Sun Burns Into Your Eyes
Those hopes to exist without risk, without presence or engagement, or bearing the weight of being the object in the lesson, they’re actually as unhelpful as a bathing suit in a blizzard. Because this isn’t that kind of life. As painful as the change thus far has been, it is not even the beginning of it.
Artemis
This is a girl who could be mistaken for another girl and not as she is, a keeper of shadow and goblin-teeth.