My Blog Is A Mess

Take care of this girl who was seen as weed

By her gardeners, and was tortured for being,

So she was forced to become as relentless

As thistle that grows by the roads.

Take care of this child

for she’s learning that hand does not equate fist,

Each knuckle painfully gripping the absence of fear.

She’s extended her hand to the burning  and drowned

To help them tame the fire and stop the salt from eating away what’s tender.

She has lost whom she’s chosen to be her blood

And came out with less thorns around her.

Watch her, Wildmother,

For she’s learnt to say “I love you”

And give it freely, like a gift,

Like an invitation

To see her bloom in bright purples and blues.

Love her for her freedom

For she’ll never be gentle the way some are,

But oh is she relentless, oh is she devout,

Oh is she a force of nature!

Only your child could be so wild,

A thistle growing and grabbing for more,

Full of unstoppable life,

Throwing herself into elementals

And fighting each time like it is her last,

Never losing her grip on us.

Oh Wildmother, she’s a motherless child,

Each knuckle bruised and battered, and thorned,

For she’s fighting against something greater than her.

Oh watch over her

Like a mother would

For the nights are too cold for lost children

To walk alone.

suddenly, students are barely ever late to classes any more and there are significantly fewer incidents of getting lost around the castle

everything goes wonderfully for a week, all the professors are baffled but pleased

here is the future of beauyasha, now: yasha tells beau, and very quietly, beau says, “i’ve never thought about marriage before.”

because this is the thing, right: yasha committed. she loved zuella, wholehearted, no one else. there was fear in it, perhaps, and there was rage in it. but there was no shame in it. it was full commitment to each other, for life, into death, forever.

and beau - beau “hit it and quit it,” beau “no good adult influences,” beau “lets just sleep together on your way out” - beau’s never even considered that. beau is casual, and closed off, and difficult to commit to. beau sits down and listens to yasha talk sweetly of her wife and the world they shared together and the love forever and beau wants something, deep down, sad, in a way she never has.

so beau stops flirting. she sits down and she listens to yasha telling stories of her wife. there is an incredible joy in the sharing of experiences - beau talking about spilling an entire beer on the first girl she tried to flirt with, yasha telling silly stories zuella used to have for the children of the tribe. there is a joy, in solidarity. there is a tenderness to it. there is a healing.