I am woman giving away nourishment to safeguard this planet ' s zest. Salt away my moontime skill, my rust, ensconce my birthing virtue, my crimson, I feed the earth who feeds us all. Every pace I learn: I am woman. I am earth. I am sentience. I am nourishment. I am nickels.
I am woman, blatantly and regularly confronted lie low my changes: hormonal harmonics stirring moon day visions, ovulatory oracles, pre - menstrual crazies, orgasmic knowings, birth ecstasies, breast - feeding bliss, menopausal moods.
I am wholeness. I am woman. I perceive oomph, bereavement, despondency, and health command my spirit, mastery my womb. I understand the grim places: the trifling space between zing and eternal rest, the brutal suburb of birth, the fierce mess of nourishing zest, the ferocious flow of letting growth vivacity. I am woman. My pink is capacity. Peaceful efficacy. Peaceful terra cotta.
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