02/21/2025
Two things can exist simultaneously.
sometimes exhaustion and activism
sit side by side
sometimes they play footsie
under the table
while enjoying a pot
of fondue
sometimes anger
and compassion square dance
spin your partner do-si-do
at a h***y tonk joint
outside of town
reverence and irreverence
have been known
to give piggyback rides
to each other
the two of them snort-laughing
their way down the aisles of
All That’s Holy
the sacred and the profane
are next door neighbors
they serve sage truffles
and strawberry boxed wine
at their thursday night
book club
the foolish is my saucy friend
and the wise my midnight lover
this means I can march
in the streets with a bullhorn
a human torch of rage and compassion
then
curl into the shape of grief
in a fort made of hope blankets
then
cry feathered tears for
the tiny broken robins egg
on my driveway
and still use words
like dicktard and cuntwaffle
two things can be true
at the same time
like this poem that seems
to rhythm and rhyme
and then doesnt
let this be your
get outta jail card
when you hold yourself prisoner
inside the smallest simplest
version of you
the cleanest you
the compliant you
the chameleon you
no longer needs to conform
to the one-crayon picture someone else
colored you to be
stop demanding the world be
one thing only
or expecting people to comply
with your version of sanctity
life itself is a juicy
contradiction
a hot glorious mess
of entangled beauty
so are you
live it all
let it all
then own it all
authenticity is sexy
accountability is the new pretty
transparency is the little black dress
that can take you anywhere
get real
and then wear that
realness to every event
its the spicy accessory
that goes with everything
this way lies the zip code
of your genius
where your deep joy
feeds the worlds hunger
this way lies
fragile fierce belonging
as it sways
with toothsome reality
to a jukebox lullaby
on a floor of sawdust and wonder
— Angi Sullins - books, Prints and Oracle decks at www.angisullins.com
If you're reading this, just know I'm building a tribe of wild women who are both fierce and fragile. I call it the Red Tent Blanket Fort. Given that algorithms often keep you from seeing my posts, i'm encouraging everyone to sign up for my mailing list on angisullins.com ...that's where i'll send out the news of the new book, and the tour that will allow us to gather in person. Let's get the party started.
Artist unknown
