A short firey one— give it to me, crazy woman.

In the sauna, I listen to long voiceys from friends.

Today I’ve had three friends come to be with their crazy, extreme desires and urges and say ‘I know I’m crazy.’ I say to them— I AM YOUR FRIEND FOR THIS.

There is nothing you can shock me with.
I am the queen of crazy and what I am most firey about is women being called ‘crazy’ for being wild women, humans, real.

Not many in the world can recognize the beauty of the wild woman. Most call her insane or give her a diagnosis. At the very least they talk about her behind her back very differently than to her face. But she knows.

Last year, I read texts sent to my husband from a man we’ve both known for many years calling me ‘unstable’ (and many, many other things) because always I saw through his facade and blocked him on Instagram for harming my family. He’d scroll my posts and then pick them apart to my husband. He called me ‘unstable’ behind my back while on the same day texting me to offer fake platitudes.

Unstable? No. Just a real woman. With divinely accurate instincts. Maybe you’ve never met one because you’d shit your pants at the sight of her. My anger is pure, holy and not just my own.

Women… dream with me.
Remember with me.
Scream with me.

I tell my friends who come to me telling me that what they see, know, want and feel is crazy and I say give it to me.
I can hold it.
And I am honoured.