When I flirted with the bartender, the one I always flirted with, I did my research.

I went to the internet like any good side-fling and I looked at life outside the dim light

and I found his wife.

And she was covered in crystals – her hair was dotted with them.  She had crystals on her toes, she held them between her teeth and explored them with her pink tongue.

And I backed away with my hands raised.  That is a woman you can’t touch.  That is a woman you wouldn’t know where to start with.  She is standing in the bright light, she’s awake under the moon while I’m drinking bourbon in search of wedding rings.  It didn’t matter how young I was or how tight my pants were or how well I’d mastered my eyeliner.

I’ve touched that power in myself and there aren’t any more excuses.  My body has grown them both and altered me and I’ve found my altar.   My power is waiting for me to wrap up in it.  I’m done asking for permission.

Now I grow it.  I grow. I grow.


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