Moth ✨

Creative Pagan Wiccan and soon to be world explorer.


July 2016

The Pagan Storm

A crack of the Goddess’ whip and the sky is covered in white veins, branching up like an old gnarled tree in the sky.

Ice pelts the soil and the rooftops of buildings like rocks flung by the Horned One and windows shudder as he lets out a mighty bellow.

The night erupts in the clapping of rain drops on the earths crust, small yet powerful enough to make branches crack and tumble to the ground.

The Lady’s breath makes the trees curl their toes deeper into the soil and their leaves dance on flimsy stems.

All of a sudden all is still but the dainty taps on hollow surfaces as the last of the sky’s tears make their way to the floor.


The start of it all

Hi, this is gonna be a bit of a personal post just to update you on the really cool opportunity I had yesterday. 

The local museum had a reopening and gave myself and a friend of mine the privilege to be the opening act for their reopening. Unfortunately the friend flaked and the night before we were set to perform my friend, Dwayne, came up for me. In less than half an hour he had the chords down and the next morning we had to rush through practicing and eventually we had the lyrics and the song down perfectly

The manager of the museum is a wonderful human being and calmed our nerves after listening to us and the staff were very supportive. It was mine and Dwayne’s first time performing in front of people but we were so nervous when the time came we actually forgot the words but that was met with applause and a demand for a redo from the crowd. The support from the onlookers gave us the confidence to start over and hit every chord and lyric with perfection. 

As a thank you the manager has given us a chance to get free recording time in a professional studio and have 150 CD’s made to get us started. 



The ache of life clutches at my swollen belly, a heartbeat soon follows, a tiny figure nested on the floor of my womb.I can feel it’s emotion: safe, protected, warm, comfortable. What would have been its face is pressed against the soft pink lining of my deteriorating organ.

Third times the charm, I place the three oblong compressions under my tongue and they slowly begin to fall apart, overwhelming my mouth with a bitter taste and my body retaliates making my mouth water.

I lay down, placing a hand gently beneath my not yet breathing part of me. It’s fate makes my eyes water but I don’t falter or regret.

Bile rises in my throat, gracefully pouring from my lips as my body heaves and quakes, my hair and face damp and salty. 

My tiny being burns, she’s being torn apart within me, I’m ripping her limb from limb. She doesn’t understand, she screams; no those are my screams. I can’t stop the convulsions and the pain, white flashes beneath my eyelids as my insides char and shred themselves.

Minutes pass, minutes turn to hours, hours turn to blood; pouring, gushing, soaking my thighs and clothes.

I mourn for my loss, stroking the skin above where she once housed herself, I cry for her. I cry for her pain and I cry for mine.

Poetic thoughts 

Fiery glances, loving kisses, warm embraces with so much more meaning than hugs shared by lovers.In exchange for what? Forced affection, dull eyes and sandpaper skin?

I dream. Dreams of pale yellow hair glistening under individual rays of warm sunlight, eyes closed contently, head rested upon my thigh. Tracing kisses upon his furrowed brow, whilst his thumbprint lingers on the palm of my hand. Wind blowing my hair as to brush it against his forehead. I squeeze his fingers in my hand and sigh, I feel myself glow with happiness; he’s still mine.

Yet here now I sit, tied in ropes made of self doubt, uncertainty and paths wrongly chosen; tied to a man who’s lips are thin and misleading, the dirt under his fingernails scraped from the deception of his false identity and his brow raised in self proclaimed superiority. Forcing me to cower in the shadows of my own self loathing; oh, how I miss my blond haired, bright eyed Apollo. 


Watching the moonrise through the twisted, crooked branches of the bare peach tree in the back yard through my bedroom window, I feel a tug at my soul; the open calls me.The bars on my window resemble the bars on a cage and behind my door is the three headed dog that’s holding me captive here.

I’m not meant for the cookie cutter life that is bred into to us by the government from a young age, my earth purpose calls me and beckons me to break free from my prison of concrete towers, battery powered souls and oil rivers. It whispers in my ear late at night, the formula to ease my wounded soul; smells of fresh grass, clean air, tall trees, the feel of bark beneath my hands and rain upon my face, the relief of having nowhere to go and nothing to do but live free.

I yearn for that antidote but will have to remain poisoned until my time for freedom comes. 

The Goddess knows what to do 🌻

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