Becoming a witch

 

There once was a girl
who changed with the wind.
The invisible crown atop her head
felt heavy,
and shackles gripped her feet.
So she walked the earth, with her head bent low, and feet heavy.
A mirror she held close to her bosom, but instead of reflecting her,
it reflected others.
She changed and morphed to harmonize with those around,
all the while becoming more untuned.
A prisoner she felt within herself,
A penance she felt she had to suffer.
Until one night the moon walked the earth and raised from the ground others like her.
Fear was far from her, home she felt,
For these were the women who ignited a fire within her soul.
Queer, and crone and witches they were labelled,
for being a rebel.
Feared were they for being themselves,
feared were they for taking the path less traveled
Unapologetic, courageous and wise were they,
And a piece of them lives within her.
But their fiery souls,
were burnt and drowned
and hung and starved;
and hers is trapped in the construct
of what is wrong and what is right
what's normal and what's not.
And so it suffers like so many before her.
But like so many before her,
The snake is uncoiling from the base of her spine
Old skin is shedding and the feeble flame is now burning bright.
Tonight as the moon walks the earth
and the coven gathers around her,
the crown no longer feels heavy and shackles turn to dust.
An onlooker witnessing this would feel their spine chill,
for what is more fearful than a woman becoming a witch.