i have a strange obsession with the forest. the magic of it. its the home of witchcraft and wandering. it's darkness is calming and the monsters lurking beneath it breathe life into my soul.  

i leave offerings to the rivers, in hopes they won't swallow me whole. i ignore the burning of creatures eyes as i wander the overgrown paths. 

the trees grow thicker and i pay no mind. crows peck at my ankles and i thank them for their offerings. 

to the forest, i gift my blood and in turn, she offers me sanctuary. 

at times it's hard not to wonder what other girls walked her paths, in hopes of peace. what other girls prayed and found their fate here. 

the forest is generous, she shares her magic, her witchery. the trees speak a language not learned but felt. they are dark with distrust and you must earn their kindness. through pain and fear (and blood). and i give every piece of myself willingly. 

the forest is my mother, my freedom, my home. 

time is lost, her power is my own. it fills me to the brim, it burns and burns and burns and cleanses me. it brings me to my knees. 

(at last, i've grown fluent in the language of trees) 

my roots are here, in this forest. men can no longer find nor harm me. my prayers have been answered, my pain repaid. 

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i gave you blood, now give me peace.