I am focused.

Visions?

Never been clearer.

Mind?

Never been saner.

What is clarity—

If not knowing that I am?

The numbers in my bank?

Infinite.

Endless.

Like me.

Like soul.

Like spirit.

Like life itself—

Eternal.

Or shall I say… maternal?

Because through my lips,

Here in the South,

I breathed life.

I huffed.

I puffed.

And I bore creation.

So—

Who is this invisible man in the sky you speak of?

When I am creation.

A goddess.

Self-manifested.

I could never kneel.

Or submit.

Patriarchy?

The seed of all evil.

Religion?

Its chosen executioner.

I mean—

Praise the king of kings

While you cripple the queen?

Fair enough…

For a frail ego'd dictator

Who crowned himself leader

Of a world he never carried.

Anyway—

Where was I?

Oh yes...

Back to self.

I am love.

I am healing.

There is no below—

Because I am above.

No heaven.

No hell.

And yet—

I am the Alpha.

The Omega.

The beginning.

And the end.

The womb birthed the beginning—

Not some absent father.

But the consistent mother.

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