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Poetry

Western Tennessee Night

We sat under a canopy of stars
Perfectly displaced in the Western Tennessee night
Where I felt all at once overcome by its beauty and weighted with its story
As you leaned across the table
Oblivious to my existence
And broke the hum of sweet, evening air
Disrupting the cicadas’ lullaby
With your gleeful screech of
“YOU PUSSY BITCH!”
I didn’t know you
But I knew I could not remain silent
When I lifted a gaze that until then had always rested low
To make myself small
To hold space for ignorance to feel safe
To passively agree
And my eyes met the only other woman’s at the table
Exhausted, I sighed
While you blindly persisted in your revelry
Bereft of any reverence to the power of pussies like ours
The ones that have endured a millennia
Of insufferable, miraculous agonies
Of being split open for flowers to pour from between our legs
Of baptizing sheets and soil and skin with the holy waters of our eyes
Reaching the heavens with our desperate howls
Of birthing every. single. first. and last. breath
On the body of a Mother
Who fills our lungs with life
Our eyes with magic
Who bathes us in Her veins
Providing shelter with Her bones
To be degraded and mocked
The insurmountable power of it all belittled
I looked you in your eyes
And for myself
For the sister whose gaze could hardly meet, yet mirrored my own
For every single woman before and after me
I sang from the depth of my womb a prayer
When I told you “NO”
You ascended upon me
As well as the other men at the table
Those that thought like you
Were blind like you
Scared like you
And you barked and snarled and sneered like wild hyenas
Attempting to submit my gaze back down, below your belt
But I
With my prayer and powerful pussy
I sat unwavering
And slowly
One by one
You all left the table, unable to bury me
And the cicadas resumed their lullaby
Under the canopy of stars in the Western Tennessee night

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by Lindsaytilzer

Writing has been a balm for me since I was a little girl. Growing up in a turbulent and abusive home wrought with addiction, emotional neglect, and caretakers who were absent both emotionally and physically, I began keeping a journal and writing poetry at age 9 as a way to process and put in to words all that my little heart struggled to comprehend. I started writing stories by age 11, songs at age 13, and have continued this practice, which has always felt more like a necessary habit than obligation, to this day.

I am deeply inspired by the connection found within the human experience, the mysticism of nature, the wisdom gained from traveling, the vibrancy of cultural diversity, and the invisible Essence that connects us and it all together. I am a hopelessly passionate Scorpio rising, daydreamy, romantic Libra sun, and dramatic, vivacious Leo moon sign that loves chipped paint, rust, overgrown landscapes painted with tall grass and wildflowers, messy hair, infusing natural elements in to my home, handmade products, small towns, holistic healing, linen, turquoise waters, campfires, the sound of lawn mowers and the scent of cut grass they leave behind, theatre, the first touch of warmth the sun leaves on my skin in the spring, belly laughs, jazz hip hop, memoirs, dark chocolate, strung up lights in the backyard, sushi, and hemp milk mochas.

Born and raised in the PNW, I currently live in a cabin on a creek at the base of the Cascade Mountain Range where I spend my days roaming through the woods with my 10-year-old daughter, husband, 4-year-old cat, Blue, and our 7-month-old pup, Kali Bear.

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