Where do you go to get free?

Seeds sprout into roots into trunks into leaves into fruit and sway in the wind,

sister brain.

Gnarled, twisted chakra wheels spinning in time

producing dried fruit, too soon or too late.

When it is time, you shall know,

it is written in the stars.

Look out, to question, is this me?

Is that me?

Do the walls, do the binding,

teach me something about me?

Where do I exist like the waters

of intuition flowing from

the Moon Goddess?

Phoebe, Titaness,

Binah from Kether.

And as princess,

I say, “not here”, “not here”.

Mother,

where do I go to be me?

“As the tides come and go,

the cycles wither and create,

you are born and you die,

you are merely

Becoming”

she says,

“Be aware of that which you become”.

This mental fecundity is

made out of the sparks

of a swordfight.

It is in the soul of which I must grow.

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