I am precious,
beautiful and tender
warm and kind and glorious
and sharp, sharp, sharp, sharp
as a tack

And you let me go said goodbye said no
said let’s be friends
said let’s scale it back said I want you in my life
but not like this, I
don’t want all of you, you said. “Why
are you so all or nothing?” you said.
So let me tell you:

Once, when I was very young my mother
told me God would not want me in his house
on the days that I bleed and I said with the Voice, the first
time I knew I was a witch, and cast a spell of truth, a Voice
as powerful as ten years and thousands of centuries could contain,
a Voice with the strange strength of the moon as it pulls
waves from the seas, churns potions in the night, a Voice
that tasted like copper in the air, a Voice that turned the kitchen
into a battlefield, a conversation into a war between Justice and Evil:

that I would not see a god that would
have me only in parts, that my body was not dissectable,
that if my bleeding days made me impure – such
a god was a god of men,
and was impure to Me on all days and in all ways.

If I could reject a god
who would have Me only in parts,

Do you think I would accept a man
who would only have Me in parts?

Once, many centuries ago, a prophesy fell like a bird telling tall tales into a vicious king’s ear, landed in the evil ways of his heart,
said “your sister’s Child will be made from the milk of the universe, ruler of all the worlds, and will destroy you for all your sins, yes, this is your destiny”

So the vicious king imprisoned his sister and her husband, killed each baby that was born, but the night that the eighth child was born, the guards fell into a sleep, the doors opened, and a voice simply said protect this child, take Him away, replace it with another so as not to arouse suspicion; you must protect Him now, so that He will protect us all later. And the husband listened, took the Child away, and brought another little one back, a little girl a little child a baby girl infant that was sure to be the sacrifice to protect a God, it didn’t seem fair, it wasn’t fair, but life is never really fair is it? And in the morning the vicious king arrived to kill the baby girl, took her, wriggling in his hands, raised to dash her head against the rock –

And She flew up, up, eight-armed, and hovered above him, now a young girl witch, a laugh like a thunderclap, and, before disappearing, with an old crone voice said: “Fool, know this; I am She who cannot be divided and your destroyer exists elsewhere because I protected Him.”

So let Me tell you,
My blood and heart are holy,
You may deserve me in parts, but
My lineage sings of indestructibility,
So sit in your own inadequacy, because I
am just too  much for you.

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