We eat our tongues as though they would be ripped from our faces,
swallow our voices as though hearth and home
might be torn out from under us.
Our stomachs are full of the stories we’ve stuffed down
with pain and shame and undeserving.
And yet we starve.

How many words live in our throats and die on our lips?
How often do we smile agreeably
while we silence our truths behind clenched teeth?
How many of us have been violated or victimized
because society taught us
to fear our own power?

Influence, we are told, comes of our ability to please.
Beauty, we are conditioned to recognize only in our smallness and delicacy.
We are made to believe that only a fragment of who we are is palatable,
so we trade our authenticity for cultural capital
and hide the rest behind industry-sanctioned masks
of Impermeable Cool.

But we do not exist to be consumed.
Honey, these mouths bite.
And yes, our lips do drip with blood.
We were first to taste Knowledge and so our wombs bear fruit.
Our delicious appetites!
The only Trick came afterward—
when we were fooled into believing the stigmas
placed on our Womxnhood, into divesting ourselves
of our voices and our Intuition,
into devaluing our embodied connection
to the mysteries of Life and Death,
creation and destruction.
Oh the yarns we are fed.

Screw the patriarchal shackles of Good Taste.
Claim your ferocity, your sensitivity, your inner guidance.
Feel into your cyclic rhythms, your wild capacity to Love.
Take your power. Find Grace.
The world needs your healing wisdom,
and you can’t pour from an empty cup.
So have your fill of Life
and be truly satisfied.

Published by

Dinavie Salazar

A writer and astrologer based in Los Angeles and California's High Desert. A womxn with appetites, a mouth that bites. The eldest daughter of Filipinx immigrants, with a heavy name I love. A guide through valleys of Shadow. A ranger of the fertile dark.

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