Stories from first breath.
A pink wash of lace.
Stories bound to past cycles and other lives.
A cut She has bled from many times over.

Slice. Slice. Bleed.
The death of She. Many.
A thousand cuts.
From this lifetime to the next.
Laced and threaded through you’re his-story and Hers.

I have a memory of a story I was never told.
I have scars from a life I don’t recall living.
Scars and stories. Weight.
On her shoulders. Mine.

Remember.
Before you took my clothes then called me a whore.
Before I felt the burn of ‘Ugly’ and oppression of ‘pretty’.
Severed threads.

White. Virtuous Woman.
Black. The Whore of Babylon.
Dark and Light.
The only acceptable versions of Me.

I am both. Ugly and Beautiful.
Creator and Destroyer.
Strong and Vulnerable.
I am more then just one or the other.

My body was your battleground.
Now it will be mine. Here I have fought.
I have loathed. Because it was what you asked of me.
Tear from my bones.
SHAME.

Shame. Shame. Shame.

Anything other than this casing. Never enough.
Never ENOUGH.
Flesh and drips and hair and folds.
Never enough and yet forever too much.

Separated from ourselves.
We have been forced to languish.
Dust in our bones.
Languish or suck your cock.
Or birth your children.
The only acceptable versions of She.
On our knees. One way or the other.

But our time is forever. Our time is cyclic.
Tick. Tock.
She is waiting patiently on the edge of Her threads.
Holding our stories. And language to weave another.

With needles and thread we will heal.
Finding pieces of Herstory in our dreams and in the soil.
Her Dark and Her Light.
The Whore and the Mother.
We will lace them together.

We will fight and claw.
We will hear the cry of the moon.
Skin prickled and bleed.
Perhaps not in this cycle.
But in the next. Or the next.

I will bleed. Velvet threads.
Viscose and sticky.
Just as She did before I took my first breath.
Just as She will do when I take my last.

Our collective shame,
Held in the light and the dark
Will dissolve.
Take my hand.
Speak your truth.
Speak your deepest truth.
To me, to her. To him. To them.

Our liberation.
Needs only your truth.
Your truth and mine.

Doll Craft.
Doll Craft and Blood Memories.

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