Vajrayogini, the Queen of Dakinis, shown to drink blood which represents the ability to transmute and transform negative actions into positive: anger into clarity, ignorance into wisdom. She wears skulls because she dances with death and transformation as naturally as the crone, the goddess embracing the power of the sacred feminine.
I’m choking on the thick fog that is your arrogance I’m suffocating on your eagerness to prove your manhood I wouldn’t have to cry so loudly if your stone speech wasn’t so sharp and empty I’m sorry I can’t keep quiet I’m not sorry I can’t keep quiet Your condescension is intended to still me Your tone so sure and certain Convinced I’m not wise enough to actually listen to your words Your regurgitated words Because I’m not alone, I must belong to him? Because I’m not standing here alone, I must not be able to? How dare your assumption Neither one of us is silent so I must be his echo? All because I have a vagina and he a penis Call me the dragon lady I’ll wear the title with pride May the fire I breathe make you squirm in your discomfort May you be heated with vulnerability and insecurity May your scabby exterior be picked away And you’ll be forced to live as an open wound A bleeding, sore, sensitive, seeping open wound Then I’ll poke my finger in you digging for a nerve Draining you completely of all protection from infection You’ll be infested and infected
Then you’ll know the power of the feminine.
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