The Poet and the Warrior.

The Poet and the Warrior.

I have to try and balance two very different sides to myself. The Poet and the Warrior. The Warrior always sacred me. It took me years to love her, to respect her. She keeps me alive. Keeps me fighting for others. She is not pretty. Rather than deal with her I often walk away. I would choose silence over wrath. Still sometimes she slips out in unexpected ways. I am at peace with my passion. I even come with a handy visual warning! Ginger!

Still the Poet waxes lyrical. There is something beautiful about that Warrior. An artistry to the movement, war paint, the clearness of deed.

She doesn't get an outing often, my Warrior. When she is seen I feel embarrassed, rather than ashamed. Still there is a vulnerability to being seen. Women especially are told often to "Calm down". This isn't what they mean more often than not. What they usually mean is "Shut up I can't deal with this".

I don't know if it is some primal fear, if it isn't maybe it should be.

She rose her head the last few days with me in the oddest of ways. Ants. Suddenly ants everywhere, but especially in kitchen. I felt unclean. I felt disgusted. I felt like a kid watching a wasp eat your ice-lolly. I felt rage.

Now I can rage almost any activity. So yesterday I rage-cleaned. There was a lot of boiling water and bubbles. I went full Bodicca. On ants.

Yeah not proud of that one either.

Still my house is cleaner than it's been in a while. 

Breaking new there are three ants in my kitchen.

Right back to the war then.

Bright Blessings xxx.