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cooing, soft night air. 
i conjure this around me. 

i let my bones settle, because often in the city, they are on fire. they are running with electric tires, the nervous systems in me cars. streets and cars, hard metal that comes from somewhere, far away. distant booms, high pitched sounds. i wonder about how we can manipulate our environment with sound, and how there might be sound warfare, and how there is also: sound healing. 

because so often in the city my breasts never settle. my bones have a hard time not rotting and becoming the earth, because we must return to the earth, we must return to the earth, we must become Them, we must become Her, be eaten by our chthonic desires, come home to Her, come home to Them, sparkling and dark, moonlit :earth. my bones remember. my bones remember, decay and how to become the earth again. 

in winter, i smell death. death is everywhere. i feel like i let parts of my garden (genitals) die out this winter in order to feel cold and aloneness, even as it is temperate climates here and no snow. 

the sound of winter is stillness in me. the sound of winter: soft rhythm rising early and feeling the cold. or sleeping late and feeling the sun. today, my wings ache, and Jah got their wings adjusted. what happens to our wings, when we are here, what happens to our wings. 

a friend texted me, after i psychically read that the passing of their kin as having something to do with an octopus beloved on the other side, that octupi are really good at escaping cages and containers. 

i thought about this: and wanted to channel octopus energy when seeing barriers of my own making that keep me in cages of self — hate

to hate yourself, is to want yourself dead. it is teenage years of suicidal iteration that you are not good enough, that you must not grow old, because what a fucking nuisance you will be to the world. you are useless, they said. they said this when you were born. when you were born and showed your soft self, and they said: “GIRL!”

“IT WILL BE KNOWN AS GIRL”

“LOOK AT THAT NON-PENIS, THAT VAGINA”

“GIRL”

“AND WE WILL TREAT YOU AS GIRL” 

“WHICH MEANS INFERIOR” 

“WHICH MEANS NO BOW & ARROW” 

“WHICH MEANS ONLY BOYS< YOU CAN KISS” 

“GIRL”

i spit out cis-hetero lies. i learn about how white supremacy teaches us to hate ourselves and hate each other. i learn about hate in me, i know hate in me, i recognize it as a tool of the state. it is a tool of genocide. it is what allows us to take life carelessly without saying “i’m sorry, thank you, i love you”. 

cooing, soft night air. 
i conjure this around me. 

i conjure justice, rebellion, trust, slowness, depth, balance, care, and liberation. 

and so it is. 

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