• Joey Morris

Lessons under Lilith


The Lilith wound It lays there, just under the skin, clawing at the unconscious, it lays there, a remnant of worthlessness, the nail across the soul board that leaves us shuddering. To be cast out of the narcissists garden, once claimed to be Eden but built on nought but lies, with the gushing wound of false hope, mourning the life you were sold cheaply, for far less than your worth. “You have been so dishonoured by men,” was a statement so true it brought tears to the surface, when I thought the wells were dry and only resilience remains. And the sharing of such thoughts in an atmosphere of hostility that bites at women for their voices requires Lilith levels of bravado... of fuck your false choices and demands for obedience, I will bleed all over this font of life with my pain and truth, and fuck you for calling it victimisation or the veneration of it. My truth is holy and it seeps with the shadows that are human, that will be alchemised into strength but not yet, not quite yet... I wept for the faces of the children that might have been, faces unknown, and celebrate the family that you unwittingly and unwillingly birthed into my life. I claim them, and her, with her fluffy bloomers and healing wisdom, and as she heals, I heal, and none of it is yours. Shame hangs around me like a noose if I let it, ready to strangle off self worth, like you would, time and again, but Lilith has some fucks for that too, demanding outrage instead of decorum in the reclaiming of the inferno that burns within. The wound is womb space splashing open with blood and fury, and void space and stars come tumbling out. Lilith grins with razor sharp teeth and talons that scratch out all that would make me small. We have work to do. - Joey Morris


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