They say eagles are a sign of good luck but all I saw was a vulture!
Tink, tink; does that mean death?
Death to my old ways?
Death to a bitter soul?
Circumstantially blind, still searching for entry to the other side.
Attached to the scent of the Devine feminine womb, you can’t re-enter mines, longing to be reborn through time.
They think I’m a lost little kitten, who’s lost her mittens, beaten by the wind, but that’s a BigContradiction to what their actually seeing.
I’m a physician not a magic magician, my head is sound and I’ve always been anchored to the ground.
Upon my skin, starting with the palms of my hands. Praying to be cleansed, as I reach out and over my porch.
Ring the juice from his bountiful grape vines.
Enter his brain and travel its course.
To pluck his rip fruit, I must prevail.
Who knows, I still don’t like this Grinch.
He steals the show, but I bet he’s truly a bitch.
And I don’t mean in the commonly used way, he’s untrue to the image he shows.
Some call him cute and I think ewww.
I wonder how it is in the life of a man. I shall have to take my time and ask about. How often do women hit you with a line dripping in skin crawling stereotypes?