You Do Not Fuck the Witch — You Honor Them.

Show Me Honor: A Poem on the Cost of Entering Sacred Flesh

I noticed that people — some men — glamorize the idea of fucking a witch like it grants them a moment of power. I mean… we are powerful. There’s no denying that. But there seems to be an offensive obsession with these men. People I mean...

I get it. They see a hot human. They’re into some weird shit they’ve never heard of, let alone believe in. They hear so much about the spiritual gifts witches and magickal beings have. They haven’t the slightest cosmic clue how our gifts work, yet their bodies respond in ways their mind cannot logically calculate or comprehend. Despite their arrogant curiosity, they sense something sovereign and untamed. An unexplored terrain of deep energy they can’t linguistically describe or articulate. “It’s just something about you. You’re different, you know?”

Yaaawwwnnn. Please tell me something I don’t already know. In fact… we’re all different. We’re different in a sense that I don’t need to pump my pussy with temporary and meaningless pleasure. I don’t think with my privates nor do I possess the need to chase something I desire like a frenzied dog on a bone hunt.

Let’s not dive into the witches who aren’t considered conventionally hot or attractive. The ones who are, in fact, deeply beautiful and attractive in ways some people can’t accept or inner-stand. The ones whose presence claims a room. All that primordial energy radiating and claiming space and time. The kind society is taught to fear and discard because there’s no market or money to be made from them. Still, there are those who seek them. Who — again — sense something sovereign and untamed about them. An unexplored terrain of deep energy they can’t linguistically describe or articulate.

This is true for some witches, no matter our preferred gender identity or how we look. We carry power, knowledge and wisdom that many believe is out of reach or off limits to them. Not that we’re more superior than anything or anyone else. We are on a path of remembrance and consciously choose to embody what we remember. We know that every living being is an expression of Source. That every rock, stone, tip of a mountain, wave, has a spirit. Is a spirit. A manifestation of God’s omnipotence. We are not to be treated like sex dolls and cum socks. U n l e s s…

Shall we go into those who assume superiority and control? Because I have had conversations and interactions with some men… The weak fall from grace. The daring give it their all. And there’s only one I’ll marry.

As a seer, I sense and reveal things some would never admit to their shadow angels. And one thing I’ve learned is that the very same people who glamorize having sex with witches and magickal people is that they deny their own power and magick. They remain in a slumber and spell casted by slave masters suited up as indenture trustees and presidents of corporations. Deep within the abyss of these people is the part of them that crave freedom.

All this to say:

Don’t think that laying with a witch (or any magickal being for that matter) doesn’t require offerings or immediate respect. The realms of our magick are sacred.

We come in many forms, shapes, densities, and sizes. We are distinct, dissimilar, and divergent. Our commonalities? We speak for and protect those who have been outcasted, disregarded, and disrespected. We uphold the good of this Universe in a way that brings light and elevation. We align with the wheels that bring fortune and calamity. We bend and mold reality in a way that honors nature. We dance. Scream. Make love and fuck too. Liking the idea of us and laying for a moment isn’t a scratch off a list. Although I may applaud you for the manifestation attempt.

In honor of this Scorpio Full Moon, I decided to share a poem I wrote in my book titled, The Magick of Healing. I updated the poem here after going back and reflecting on the original version. I’ll be making updates to the poem in the book — hopefully you can enjoy this until it’s updated.

A theme for this full moon? Divine feminine power. Embracing the shadow for the sake of emotional and spiritual release. Transformation. Rebirth.

And just owning your fucking power.

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Show Me Honor

If I bestowed the honor upon you

to gut me from the inside out

and lay my stomach on your table

you’d find the core of the sun

and it would scorch the wood to ash

If I allowed you

to spread me like curtains concealing

a room massed with mystery

your soul would ignite

and free you of that beastly body

If you asked me

to widen my mouth

you’d be pulled into a pulsing portal

leading to a pit

where seeds are swallowed

for abundance and life

My glittering oceans

of pearls, gems and jewels

would spill over your bedsheets and pillows

Their shimmering shine

would glisten, summoning your sins forth

I'd anoint the back of your neck

with the silk

smeared over my fingers

after my self-pleasure

The fore of your head

resting, obediently

on the scape of my sheets

If you came to me begging

for revelations, old legends

and prophecies

I'd lead you to

illumination

with the point of my finger

electrifying the curve of your spine

The length of you would shiver

from the ripples of my moans

your throat croaking with excitement

Your tongue, pleading for salvation

from the atrocities of your

malefactions

You can find me twirling

undressed in the night

with my curls lifting the skies

under a fierce moon filled with sunlight

Where the stars fall

to the command

of my twerking hips and electrical hands

You'd discover me belly dancing

to the heartbeat of God

until my knees are planted

in the pits of Earth

My kneeling knees sending frequencies

to the great Mother

Her moaning tunes calling out to me

My hands raising the heavens,

as above

my souls reaching the gunk of hell,

so below

When you come to me

expecting an experience

in laying with a witch

you’ll be aghast and disquieted

by the slithering crawls of your corruptions

lest you have mastered your mind

and have embraced your divine feminine

Arrive respectful with your top lip sewn

to the bottom of your chin

Or your bottom lip stapled

to the tip of your nose

if you wish to immerse yourself

in the realms of my magick

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My calling doesn’t begin or end with writing. In fact, it begins in the quiet hours pregnant with inspiration and sparks of eternal light. It begins with the movement of spirit wading within the spaces untouched by hands hindered by sins who reach for salvation like it’s the last drink of wine they’ll ever drown in. The moment my intuition sways like sacred hips tranced in invocation, I surrender. My body becomes the altar. There are moments I am guided through the magickal process — and there are moments I merge as one with The Great Mother. Once merged, magickal essentials, spoken word poems, and written pieces are born.

Each silkened oil, pack of incense, fixed candle, and ritual tool is crafted and blissed to enrich your daily acts of devotion. They are intentionally crafted by hand, blessed by bloodline, and charged by the moon to ensure potent power that aligns with your intentions. These essentials are meant to help you transcend beyond suffering, manifest, and expand your consciousness. The word is breath in motion, the essential is the body grounded in ritual. They are only meant to serve your highest best as you journey your path of remembrance.

— As remembered, so embodied.

The Etherium has lived to serve you for over seven years. The wisdom has been gathered through life experience since my childhood years. Give an offering. Reserve your essentials for your magickal workings here:

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