By me, BoJenn
You may call me “of the devil,”
as your faith permits—
but that speaks more of your mirror
than my soul’s quiet fire.
Christianity, to me,
is a cage built of dogma—
a ritual of repetition,
cloaked in borrowed words:
Angels, demons, devil, evil…
Eternity, heaven, hell, God.
And that tired word—prayers—
so often spoken in place of presence,
a whisper offered
when true action is withheld.
I walk where the wind speaks
in trees older than time,
where truth is not preached—
but known.
I do not bend to “Praise the Lord”
or chant “Hallelujah” on command.
That’s not sacred to me.
It never was.
You judge me?
Yes, and I judge in return.
Not to condemn—
but to claim space.
Equal in weight.
Unapologetic.
I am Druid—
rooted in the old ways,
fluid in knowing,
fierce in silence.
Do I believe in your savior?
That’s between me
and the breath of stars.
It has nothing to do with goodness,
nothing to do with worth.
The Source knows me.
Sees me.
Honors me.
And I am not afraid
to walk in that light
alone.
My Art
My magic
My Near Death Experience Arts and Thoughts 