Forget

We forget

Too often how beloved we are.
Like a mother chid connection.
Like the womb we are born from.
We are knit seamlessly by beloved energy, eroding our hatred, our fear and our dualities of destructive ideas of difference.

Don’t forget

The yarn, the needle, the wrinkly delicate hands born from another woman’s bosom that beckons your soul forward into beauty.
For all things knitted and sewed and mended is what makes up the stuff of our skin
The stuff of goodness
The hot chocolate milk on a cold, windy day by the fire, wrapped in knitted socks and sweaters, soaking up the scents of cinnamon and serenity. 

How can you forget?

The warmth, the cool, misty breeze that nurtures the nest, deep within our chest.
Every moment you open your eyes to the beloved who lives within the crevices of your palm, in the energy of your fingers.

But forget

The stuff that keeps you from soaring.
Those people pushers, those suppressors of souls, those poor egos thriving off the energy of others. For you are not their dirt but of our earth and of sky.

Forget them

You do not need to explain why
Soar into true being, birthed into wonder, knit together by her thunder.