Witch Queen
Blessed Wednesday!
Welcome back to the Chapel of Honey. We meet you as you are, where you are, no judgement. Want to get a spot in the next sweet candle burn? Link at end of essay.
I’m wading waist-deep into the shadows, into the realm I occupied more as a child than anywhere else. I’m going to visit all the ghosts and ghouls and things that go bump in the night. I’m dyeing my hair black cherry, and cutting my nails down to the quick where I can’t bite them. I’m coming home to my sixteen self, my seventeen self, my nineteen self and seeing if they’ll want to walk with me into this thirty two I’ve become. I am the mistress of rebirth.
I’m realizing that jealousy is a hungrier thing than I thought, and I’m not throwing any bones to bitches who don’t like themselves. I love me, you can starve. Once upon a time I was rail thin and a viper disguised as a friend said I would gain weight back, as if that was a failure. Well now I’m a size 12 and my body curves like God’s shorelines and my figure is the kind that gets brought to the surgeon as an inspo pic, and my lips are still full and my skin is still glowing and my hair still curls and bounces so now what? You can’t beat me at my own game, and you can’t win at yours either if the rules you play by belong to the diet industry who wants to make you into a sickly victorian child. I’m Venus, and you can be too.
I’m pouring all my polished words into a manuscript. I picked up my tracks from every circle of hell I’ve walked through and turned them into victory dust and building blocks, and I’m gonna get rich off the work of transmuting my pain and mistakes. My fuckups are mine to do with what I please. I am a medicine maker, the Devil knows that if he gets too close I’ll snip off the end of his tail and pickle it in holy vinegar. I’ll palm his head in my small hands and bring his teeth into close acquaintance with a brick wall. Working for God is a contact sport and I relish a good fight.
Go to the cemetery and drop some quarters at the gate, sprinkle some holy water and flower petals around the perimeter and offer peace to those who need it. Go to the big old tree at the center of the park that always catches your attention, sit at the base of the trunk and trace the rising roots with your fingertips until you’re in a trance. Whisper words of power into your morning brew, stir adoration in with the sugar and riches with the cinnamon. Thank all the work animals and farmers and laborers as you pour the cream, and invite the moon to visit in your dreams sometime soon.
Here’s the thing, little witch: you are what you believe you are.
I’m a witch through all time. I was born before the Big Bang was a twinkle in the apple of the Mother’s Cosmic Eye and I’ll be here long after the Sun burns out. I have eight arms and eight hands, four eyes and six crowns. I walk with a sycamore branch wrapped in snakeskin and thorny roses, I walk in the company of mountain lions and housecats alike. I stand at the stove of the Gods making restoratives of bone, breads of life, and syrups that turn enemies to lovers. I’ve got a candle for everything, wallet full and bills paid, and I walk around my home in silk robes at sunrise. I am what I say I am.
So take up space and spit out the poisons thrown at you, and speak your affirmations from the center of your chest with frightful amounts of bass. Turn up the drums and stomp the house down with whatever music rings in your spirit like praise. There’s no one in the world just like you. Embody yourself from the crown down, from the ribcage out, and do it fearlessly. Make these clowns shake in their boots with the bright star of your assurance, remind them that the Glory of God is blinding every time you adorn your body and step into the world as your truest self.
All my love,
Honey
👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽
👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾