It’s raining today.
I am stuffed to the brim with thoughts. There is no room inside me to receive anymore. I can only reflect, and push away. The ability to transform energy from dark to light seems unobtainable today. I don’t know why I am so deep inside myself, but I hope I can find some kind of means of finding my magic soon, like Circe left to herself on her island, slowly discovering the power of interacting with the earth around her, finding natural magic in her own two hands.
I am drinking kava tea and snuggling with a little old dog. The rain is coming down against the windows and I am swelling with water. This house might as well be a submarine. I am a nautical astronaut, pressed in on all sides by the vacuum of myself. I am full of brine and mystery, and my key is washed away. Some days it tides its way to me; today is not one of those days.
Everything is an intrusion today. My cup is full of saltwater. I am a goddess, trending towards monstrosity like Tiamat. There is a sea monster inside of me pressing against the back of my skull, bulging out of my eyelids, eating at the substance of my belly. How can I create when I embody destruction? How can I love when my heart is a tempest?
It is a poet’s nature to dramatize as they capture—this I know. But when it feels this sticky, what other way out is there but to write, and write what feels true?
There are good people, and good loving, and good dogs to be shared and honored and enjoyed. Tomorrow, dawn with her rose-red fingers will find me on my raft, floating towards the homeland in myself, braving moody Poseidon and praying to bright-eyed goddesses. There is birth inside me yet…this bad day is not my epic. This bad day is not my song.