My pussy wants to cry.
When it cries
my eyes become so jealous
they shut off and turn inwards to stare at my guts
to experience the rain and the release.
That sweet and tender part of my thighs
the one you like to bite,
the one that surrounds my Flower tingles,
anxiously awaiting the downpour.
I feel as if bugs are crawling over my torso.
Waves of energy amuse my every cell
from the tips of my toes to the crown of my head.
My whole body becomes a rainforest,
with the smell of musk
and the sound of waterfalls.
My legs fold open like butterflies.
My hips— if they have paint on their edges
will trace the most beautiful flowers
with their circular, repetitive motion.
This is how they talk.
This is how they accept.
This is how they say yes.
But why does my pussy want to cry?
Because when I love my life-birthing ecosystem,
When I recognize my creative-making potential,
it is too damn beautiful not to cry.
When my pussy cries I give birth to myself,
And it cries because
It’s the cry of joy;
it's the cry of Love.
From my book
WOMAN OF THE MOON