The voice within me is old.

And I know her now.

I've always known her,

because she is me,

as much as I am her.

 

I remember,

a time in September,

under a tree

crowned in golden leaves,

a tall crescent woman.

She was the moon

captured in pearly skin,

and long iridescent hair that

mimicked the night.

She beckoned me and we

tumbled through the forest.

We laughed, and sang and flew.

She showed me skyscapes beyond

imagination.

I understood oneness then.

That we are all of the same being.

Our disconnection solidified with distance

from that oneness.

How blind the eyes of those who

do not dream.

 

She told me her name,

Mary.

 

For a while, I forgot her,

my hardened heart aching.

Each day I was nearer

to the ground, and farther from the stars.

 

Soon I was haunted

by demons.

Walkers, stalkers, rapists, and ruphies.

A product of vagina-envy.

 

But I am powerful,

and in my dreams I remember,

all the doors must be opened by me.

I am the keeper of my fate.