years ago i wrote my manifesto, and to read it now, it feels like horseshit and reads like lines from a new-age self-help feel-good publication.
i don’t really know who the fuck i am anymore. it’s like i just traveled a birth canal, spit forth from a raving feral coyote mother who set me at the opening of the den and said ‘go….you’re on your own now.’
my body isn’t what it was two years ago, two surgeries ago.
my heart seems more fragile, my feelings more sensitive.
but, yet, my hands, they are rimmed with gold and hold the prayers my spirit cries out.
the map to my emergence will be drawn out anew every day.
some days, it will be drafted with every breath, with each passing moment of crazy holy renewal.