for Cathubodua

There is no reverie between gods and men. How could the divine love its divinity? I praise the ash and dream of teeth. For I am my god to whom this altar of bones is devoted. My faith lies in the sinews of flesh and the fire of blood, in the thunder of throats, and the sting of tears. May your thorn-crowned spirits and golden, cloudy cities save your soul when your eyes turn to glass.

Bring me your suffering. The battle roar of broken bones. Bring me the riot in your heart. Angry raw and wild. Bring it all. For I am not afraid of the dark …

Memories do not always soften with time; some grow edges like knives.

They call the thing that fights to keep itself, rageful. So show them that storm. Show them what it tastes  like to be made the way we are.  Be rageful.  Do not let yourself be shamed for refusing to  be drowned.