The Goddess

You hear their voices in the dead 

of night and retreat. Original 

sin so ingrained, you drown 

out their wisdom.

Sunken into the marrow of

your bones is their message.

Equally important, but

invariably unique. 

You close your eyes.

Drift into deepest 

consciousness. 

Eve's curiosity engulfs as 

you, yes you, bite into the

forbidden apple of a life

fully lived. 

Then, Ishtaar's fullness

surrounds you:

An existence pregnant

with joy. Rotund and

exuberant. Free and 

full.

This is only matched by Isis'

magic hand: healing,

tending, protecting. 

Growing and gifting. 

You feel Oshun's abundance.

You clench your thighs.

It lives in your hips:

sultry, sensual, sensory,

sensitive.

For the first time, you allow

yourself to feel that might.

A power that only Vashti's

resilience to resist to man

can balance. 

Man. Men. Who for millenia 

denegrated the Goddess 

(you).

Forgetful that if crossed,

you are both Kali and Medusa

- ash black and serpentine,

ready to strike. 

You remember that you can

cast flesh to stoney

death. And like Lilith, 

realise that you will not 

serve or subserve, but only

preserve (yourself).