Mine is a power that will not explain itself.
No sources revealed, no maps drawn, no keys given.
I am neither an authority nor an imposter.
I am only as true as the restless wind.
Will you be the judge?
To be witch is merely to be.
to be blood
and sensual juices
and flesh and spirit.
To be whore and hag with an eager heart on both accounts.
I follow no rulebook, I answer to no priest.
I don't buy into buzzwords.
Only the slicing of the sickle through illusion.
But please, don't buy into me either, for I will surely change with the face of the moon.
Again and again, you catch me, and I slip from your grasp.
Always fading into the wash of the sky.
I am not exempt from destruction.
I burn often,
as the embers remain glowing in my womb through the generations.
The liquid fire in my veins kills me,
sometimes slow, like sweet burning molasses,
sometimes quick as silver.
Over and over, I die for the Nameless.
Sometimes carelessly, creating chaos for the sake of itself.
To breathe as the dragon does.
To take down a village with a yawn.
Sometimes consciously, to dismantle the inner landscape of injustice.
To protect the beloved from the below.
To exact holy revenge and righteous balance.
I weaponize my words, and the way my body curves.
My copper strands of hair carry out my wishes.
And I am alone in the dark,
with only and always the hope of the stars.
How exhausting to be so much at once.
To always be a prism of undying elements,
all at once compassionate and cruel.
But this is the path of the Pathless Witch.