Fear of her Wild Fire.

She is not afraid that she is weak

That she's made of fragile lace fabric, that she will unravel from a whipping, harsh breeze

Oh no.

She is afraid that her gaze could burn down a city

Dismantle a man

Break open a thousand hearts

She is afraid that she is far too powerful

So she shamefully looks away from the lightning bolts throbbing through her veins

The oceans of intuitive, feminine power that thrash wildly inside her. 

She pushes under the fire and flame, tucks it sweetly behind her smile. 

She remembers all too well, each & every time she was told she was too much

Too intense.

Too loud.

Too overwhelming. 

So she hides

She hides her flames. 

A smothered volcano ready to burst

At the seams.

And no

She is not afraid of pain

She is afraid that once she transforms she will soar too high.

She is afraid to taste the gritty shakti that lives inside her

That blooms in her tongue

In moments where she falls to her knees

Says fuck it to the past 

Rips her heart open at the seams

And lets the delicious darkness pour out.

She meets her demons with a come hither stare

And howls to the moon from a rocky mountaintop. 

She is fire. 

She is power. 

She is pain. 

She is fucking courageous chaotic beauty. 

The world might have branded her as weak and helpless, a passive woman

But she knows the juicy truth

She is ridiculously strong, 

Unfuckwithable.

It's time to 

Burn,

Burn, 

Burn, 

And shower the world with her

Fire and flame. 

 

Photo: Flickr