Featured

#CupOfJoBruno Brew on Black Lives Matter in a White Oppressed System

Black Lives Matter! It matters as a statement, a movement, and an important time in Black American History. It matters to all kinds of system change and our new reality of life. But it seems hard for a lot of people to truly comprehend what’s going on. White folks think we are blaming them for something? What’s the blame? Can you explain that? What do you feel guilty of, white people? Why so angry? So aggressive. It’s disturbing. I don’t understand. You tell me “they” need to “act right” but what does “right” even mean? Is your way the “right way?” Probably not for many people. Folks say they’re “tired of seeing and hearing about all the BLM stuff.” I really don’t get it. Now, let’s pause for a second. I am a white woman. I am a white ally to Black lives in America. I have been given the responsibility to speak up, raise the voice of Black communities, and to carry the weight of the oppressed with me as I continue this journey of a #CupOfJoBruno. Much like Johnny Cash, I’ll always wear black for the oppressed and for those who don’t have a voice. It’s part of my purpose and I’ve accepted it.

So ok. Back to Black Lives Matter(ing). Your actual life matters, of course. But for just a second. Take away your typical views of a white person and think about this. YOU don’t matter to the system. You are just a number like everyone else. How does that make you feel? Does it make you feel outraged? Because it should. You really don’t matter. Your living, breathing sentient life is the most important thing in this world! That is never in question. But to the system, you don’t matter too much. Even in your privilege you don’t actually matter. Your livelihoods don’t matter. You just get away with a lot more shit. And, you don’t even know it. That’s sad. Really sad. We aren’t telling you that you’ve done something wrong, we are trying to show you that you do matter. We’re trying to teach you that in your argument of all lives mattering, you’ve forgotten to add yourself into that category. You’ve forgotten all the lives of children who are in camps, ripped from their parents.

Let’s see here. The point behind “no Lives matter until Black Lives matter” is just a simple reminder that you are a number to the system like people of color have always been. It isn’t to ever discount you for anything, but rather to raise you in existence. You’re unaware of your oppression, and you’re also unaware of your privilege. It’s a dangerous mixture of misinformation and ignorance. You have a privilege of not experiencing oppression in your everyday lives.  It’s in your backyard right now and it seems like you’re scared. Are you scared? Of what? I mean, you got Fox News telling you that black folks are going to come into your precious little suburb neighborhoods and tear down your homes. Do you honestly believe that’s going to happen? Why? Why are you so scared? Do you realize that most of your neighbors are probably people of color or close allys of people of color? They’re already LIVING in your suburbs. The “they” you’re so clearly scared of are your neighbors. And, ok. I get it, you’re uncomfortable. It’s going to be ok though. Trust us. Please. 

In all due respect, you’re able to get away with breaking basic laws, simply because of the color of your skin. Did you know that? Don’t get mad at that. Don’t get mad at me for telling you that. Don’t even get mad at yourself for being white once you realize what I mean. It’s the privilege folks keep reminding you of. Please stop getting so mad about it. Take time to understand your privilege so you can make better choices for our future. Further, you don’t have to fear the police on an everyday basis. You have the privilege to call them to “protect” you from Black folks. You even call them against the same neighbors I just mentioned; you know, the people of color who have moved into your suburb. Majority of the times, they’re your neighbor, folks. It’s strange really. Did you know the first police department was created specifically to chase down run-away slaves? Maybe you didn’t know that. Boston, folks. Know your history and defund those establishments.  Put that money toward the Black communities and learn something from them. Also, in no way is being a cop justification for blue lives mattering. “Blue Lives” is a job; it’s work they’re paid for. Black lives are lives in which are of Black people. I don’t get it, folks. But there’s another establishment that could be considered a form of a first police department, but they’re what we see now as security officers. There’s a clear distinction between White American and Cops and Black America and Security officers. Back when these two establishments were created, Security Officers protected property and goods while cops hunted and killed run-away slaves. This is simple education, folks. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t know this stuff in 2020.

In any mixture of white communities, you don’t ever have to explain to your kids how to speak “properly” in certain circles. You don’t have to lessen your culture to fit in or be judged because of it.  Your ambition, passion and dreams are all ok but theirs isn’t. Why is that? To have a passionate, well-spoken, educated Black woman as vice president scares you. Why? Lord knows what you’ll do when a Black woman is president. I mean damn! What the hell? Even when white folks had that high, ratted-out 80s wave, we were never told to change our hair style for any reason. Even if the child behind us couldn’t see the chalk board. Stop it already! These things aren’t to blame you for anything, they’re just things you need to be aware of as we continue changing shit in this country. Don’t be mad, please. I guarantee you; black folks are at the leadership table, twisting their hair, talking “their way.” Accept it. You won’t have a choice come real soon. We’re not telling you what to do or forcing you to do something unlawful. We’re asking you to accept Black America in its entirely as an honored culture. But it seems that in and of itself is unlawful to you and your sensitivities.

As a living, breathing sentient human being, you matter. You matter, equally important to Black lives. Right? I mean, if all lives did matter like you say, do you believe you matter to the system? In what concept do you matter? What perspective? In which way do you matter? As the human species who learn and grow as individuals, we have the right to live and love in our lives. Shit, we as humans even have the right to do damage to property, pull down a statue, or burn an establishment down. Whatever! Consequences. What you don’t have the right to do anymore is dismiss the sorrow of real-life, American oppression. Of course, we all have the right to matter to the universal message of life. But to the system, that doesn’t matter. Your dreams, ambitions and goals don’t matter. At least not to the system they don’t. The actual earth itself, that we need to survive, doesn’t matter to the system. Why should you?

So again, how do you matter to the system? Do you see how you are sheep? You follow what you’ve been fed without question. You blindly believe what you are systematically told to believe. But is it true? What is truth? Have you heard the other two versions of the truth you’ve been fed? Can you make a well-rounded decision based on your personal lived-experience truth, their personal lived-experience truth, and the systematic oppression truth? Are you capable to hear another truth that might challenge your truth? Yes, your life and all your lived experience is very important. Your history is important. But the stories and lived experiences of Black folks are too, right? RIGHT?! Black history is important too, right? It doesn’t dismiss your story at all. If anything, it might make your history a bit more accurate. More fulfilling. Go ahead, try it for once. Learn another truth even if it breaks your truth in half. Or thirds.

History was written with you, white people, in mind. History was created by what your people thought was right. So, we are just trying to share a different side of history. Another lived-experience, peer story. A story that was hidden and kept secret because the founding fathers of America thought Black people were less than. Black lives didn’t matter at all when they created the declaration. In fact, they were considered cattle and property. When the signatures were made for all men created equal, black men, and all women, were not in that category. You know this, right? Women finally matter to the system. Well, some systems. We still can’t choose to abort a forced pregnancy in some states. Our bodies are ours alone, because women matter. But to the system we are just a number to control. We really don’t matter. Just like you. To the system you don’t matter. None of us matter. To the privileged system, those who were once considered less than, Jews are now counted as white to the census. But there is still living flesh with tattooed tracing numbers on it. Afghan Muslims are also considered white to the system, but you’ll never forget that one brown-skinned person from the 9/11 stories, factual or not. To the system we are all just a number. Even you.

But Black lives? Now! Here’s the thing. Black lives aren’t only a number to a much larger system, but the lived-experience of Black lives matter when we discuss the oppression of the American system you’ve had the privilege of living in. Black lives matter when we discuss public health. They matter when we change public policy, prison reform, and police brutality. And, most impressively, Black lives matter for cultivation of land, community, family, and health. Y’all will need Black lives to function in the next realty you’ll be living in. You will eventually understand why you don’t matter to the system. And when you understand why Black lives matter first and foremost in America, you’re going to understand why you matter too. You will see how you’ve been herded into a system that does not work for you. I mean really, it’s a system that’s never worked for anyone, honestly. Except elite white men, of course. Who matter, too. I guess.

The Wench’s 2020 Vision: No More Silence in the Church and Black Lives Matter. The introductions.

Here is an edited introduction to The Wench’s Cocktale. I wrote this right before I published it in 2015/2016, but edited it a bit for this additional piece. I am revisiting this and adding to it. I am expanding on what’s already published. The Wench’s story itself will not be explored, but instead, this is about introducing my next phase of publications. After the edited introduction of my memoir, you will find additional 2020 expressions for the purpose of this expanded piece. Following that, No More Silence in the Church. Then, Black Lives Matter. Those two pieces will be blogged, following this blog, later in the year. I have known this purpose since before writing my first book, since even before writing the first draft of my first book. I have always known this purpose.

#CupOfJoBruno (Twitter @ACoJBx3)
#JBwolfpack (Instagram @ACoJBx3)
#PaganScripture (Facebook @TheWenchsCocktale)
#AmWriting (National Novel Writing Month NaNoWriMo)

My personal hashtags and social media tags where you will find the deep rooted purpose of erotic fantasy and healing energy


THE WENCH’S INTRODUCTION: Sex addiction (The Institute of Sexual Health). What does it mean to me? It’s the exchange of energy that I’m addicted to. It’s the rush of endorphins that I’m addicted to. It’s when two bodies are in full ecstasy and nothing else in the world matters. That’s what I’m addicted to. There are no bills to pay, children to care for, or a job to worry about. We’re not reading emails or stuck in traffic. We’re exercising, breathing heavy, sweating and stretching muscles, releasing tension. Healing through the form of sexual passion is an amazing practice if done correctly. It’s the chemical imbalance from falling in love that got me in trouble. People do crazy things when they’re in love right?

The Wench’s story started in 2000/2001. I was just barely legal to drink in public and I was recovering from a car accident that took place a couple of years prior. I was overweight nearly 400lbs., and I didn’t have any direction or purpose in life. I tried the college thing for a semester after High School but that didn’t work. I didn’t care much. I was living a life of depression and I didn’t know it. I picked up my first set of clients when I started working as a security officer at a new power plant in town. Honestly, I don’t recall how it all started but I spent about two years jumping from truck stop to truck stop and I met with men in parking lots, abandoned car washes and motel rooms that rented by the hour. One guy I met with; we jumped the fence at an abandoned military building to find a place to explore our sexual desires. Obtaining the job at the warehouse eventually got me off the streets but it didn’t keep me from pursuing my addictions. It didn’t keep me out of trouble. It didn’t keep me from the pain. I was a mistress. I was a prostitute. I was a harlot.

My story of sexual addiction really started when I was a pre-teen and I gave my first blowjob. It was a magical experience. I was a little white girl and I played in a field with a little black boy, a name I never knew. At 11, keep in mind, I already knew what I was doing. So, when I was working the streets as an adult, every time I gave my client a blowjob, I felt playful, almost as if I was a little girl back in that field. It wasn’t until I went to college at the age of 28 that I learned how trauma can cause damage to that person as an adult. Sexual abuse on children (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network) happens everywhere and it’s rare to hear about an adult woman who has not only embraced the sexual abuse throughout her entire life, but is honored by her experiences. I’m outright blessed to have experienced them. It brought me to a place I am right now and even though it’s a constant struggle to remind myself how far I’ve come, I’m quite pleased.

I mean really, I grew up 20 minutes east of Oakland. My dad left when I was eight and after that my mom went a little crazy. She did the best she could with what she was given, which wasn’t much, so I can’t be mad at her. My mom didn’t know how to care for my sister and I, so we ran crazy with her. At only nine years old, I was introduced to 2LiveCrew (a hip-hop group based out of Miami Florida) known for their extremely sexual and controversial lyrics. My first blowjob was at 11 in that field. I lost my virginity at 12, where his younger sister was in the room, watching. Even joined. I continued doing that sexual lifestyle through the age of 26 when I finally decided to leave the streets and find my inner self, which is an ongoing process. I learned about the Leo Goddess that resided within me and I have become the Leo Queen I was meant to be. Still finding that balance. My message, my past, my journey, and my passions are becoming increasingly clear and the story of the Wench tells the reader who I am and why. I never knew what a sexual healer was until years after I worked the streets.

Now that I’m aware of the millions of women throughout history who have worked in the sex industry to heal the wounded man (International Encyclopedia of the First World War), I am honored to hold that title. I know that what I did for these men helped them through stressful times in their lives. Truck drivers, pipe-fitters, welders, forklift operators, security guards and mechanics were my clients. They were the men I healed. They were the men I enjoyed. They were even the men I hurt. I played mistress. It wasn’t always an exchange of money or an exchange of anything at all except for energy and sexual releases. The powerful endorphins in the orgasm (Science Alert) that are released into the body were and still are what I’m addicted to. Then, it wasn’t necessarily my own orgasm or the endorphins that released within me. I enjoyed helping these men release their own energy to help them heal.

Yes, I was aware my clients had wives.
Yes, I was aware I ruined a couple of marriages.
Yes, I was aware women were angry at the role I played to their husbands.

My purpose was found in the tears and prayers of these women. I received the message.


I’m not telling the story of my men or their wives though. I’m telling my story and it just so happens to have many married men involved. When I was doing sex work, I didn’t care about any of that. Then, I didn’t even realize I was a reason for so many heartaches and tears for wives. When they were home with their children, their husbands were with me. When they would call multiple times in a row, he would ignore the call because he was with me. Many wives would scowl at me because they suspected I was sucking their husband’s dick. Rightfully so, too. I enjoyed it.

Then, I was quite naive

Then, I was a broken little girl who craved love from men in a sexual manner because it was the only thing I knew. It was the only thing I was good at. It wasn’t until I fell in love with one of my clients that I started to rethink my actions. It wasn’t until I saw him get married to his baby mama that I realized I wasn’t okay. It took many years of scary ass experiences on the street for me to get the clue. I hurt many people in the process and many hurt me. Now, I am quite amazed by how much forgiveness I have given to others for the way I was treated when I was working the streets. I’m more amazed by the forgiveness I have given myself though. Some things will never be forgiven, but I’ve come a long way in my acceptance of my truth.

I have relived my memories throughout writing the different drafts of The Wench, while I used it as my senior project. With my college education came enlightenment. I would read articles explaining how the mind works for the sexually abused child. I put myself into those case studies. I heard my story as I read other stories and I learned a lot about my childhood through the eyes of a psychiatrist. When I read articles for anthropological studies of women in other countries who sexually pleasure men in the wars, I identified with my own stories of when I worked the streets. My men may have never been in wars, but they were broken in many ways. I treated the wounds of these men by giving them a moment of ecstasy and pleasure. When I wrote academic essays about socially unjust American ways, I recalled memories that triggered racial profiling. Then, I didn’t realize it was racial profiling. Then, I didn’t know black men were feared more so than respected. It wasn’t until I read Cornel West Race Matters (Good Reads) that I understood my role as a white woman who traveled between White American and Black America (PBS Interview with West).

I learned how unique my perspective was and more importantly, when I spoke with my college mentors, peers and supporters about how to make a brighter tomorrow for our youth, I gathered information that has allowed me to find the deep-rooted passion within myself. The clarity of my being has become the driving force of my life. I educated myself through the American education system and I see my life as a powerful story that can encourage many others. The life I have chosen to live, and was forced to live on some levels, is an erotic journey, and The Wench shows my truth. I have detached myself from this entire situation. I’ve come to terms with it. I accept it. I honor it as my truth. I’m not looking for help to get over this pain. I’m not trying to figure it out anymore. I’m simply telling my story.

I share it because ideally, I would like to see the readers take it upon themselves to educate the little girls and boys in their life. I want to encourage the reader to talk with the little boys and girls in their life who might be influenced just enough to act upon sexual desires at such young ages. Ideally, I am sharing this information for people to critically think about making choices regarding sexual acts and hopefully spark healthier discussions about the power of Sexual Healing. Bottom line, the Wench’s story is a tale of light in a lifetime of sexual abuse.

2020 Additions

Kundalini (Kundalini Guide).
Sexual healing (Llewellyn).
Chakra cleansing (Journal of Traditional Medicine & Clinical Naturopathy).
Trauma informed (Center of Health Care Strategies Inc).

From the shadows comes a dark essence of life that many are afraid to experience. In the Wench’s Cocktale, I told one specific story of the warehouse. It took me off the streets, like I said. But right now, I am working on a piece called No More Silence in The Church, named after a whispered lyric from Tech N9ne‘s life purpose. It is focused on the religious childhood I was brought up in. After I wrote The Wench’s Cocktale, I took a series of therapy that created a landscape of characters. It’s how I have worked through the triggering images that came to me. As a writer, I have created an entire storyline and landscape that shows the transformation of a woman from darkness to light. She is a powerful alchemist who can transform matter (Sarah, the Warrior Princess Amazon). So, a lot of writing has taken place since my memoir. Like I said, the Wench was only one piece of my story. It is the beginning process of how I made sense of the darkness I took in my innocence. Other stories are being written. Some are already published, like Morelia’s story.

The piece, No More Silence in the Church, is a double edged Athame Dagger (Grove and Grotto discussion). It’s the shadow work I started after I left the streets in 2006. The characters I created have become the multiple versions of myself and my comprehension of sexual abuse upon a child. I see my abused childlike actions come from an adult body and mind. It’s a split between light and dark. It’s the fight we all have, but this piece is deep, sexual abuse against a Child of God. To be the product of the Church. To be the product of sexual abuse in the Church. I am also the product of God’s Grace, Universal Light, and the driving force killing this virus against the next generations.

I was given responsibilities in this lifetime because I asked for it when I agreed to end my ancestral traumas. The pain of my ancestors is ending with me. Meaning, I will not repeat the traumas inflicted upon me to my child. I’m healing my ancestral trauma (Diana Quinn). The kundalini power that has been gifted to me is meant for a sacred man (My Twin Soul Journey, The Masculine Man). A man with honor for his family and a cultural acceptance of love after trauma. This is my purpose. To bring a child into this world with the druid-like wisdom I bestow. It will be the seed that many generations can grow roots from. It’s the sacred energy of the kundalini that I will gift to my children and grandchildren.

So, as I get ready to embark on an entirely new playing field, my journey will be fluid with sacredness. Not religion. Not even spirituality. But sacredness. Ancestral Sacredness (Mythic Medicine). There isn’t much sacredness about No More Silence in The Church except that it brings light to a very dark truth. That in and of itself is sacred, but the church in which I express is not a sacred truth. The silence isn’t sacred. The truth isn’t sacred. The lies aren’t, and neither are the people running the establishment. Intention, sure. But American church is not sacred. In all the churches I have stepped foot in and all the anointing I have witnessed, there was no sense of sacredness.

The kundalini is sacred. A girl’s innocence is sacred. A woman’s orgasm is sacred. A boy’s emotion is sacred. A man’s purpose is sacred. Sexual healing is sacred. Here’s the thing, this isn’t about me or my sacredness (Historic UK, Druids). I have found that already. I am finally at a stage in my life (40 years old) where my sacred wisdom (Ancient Origins) will flow into the lives of others without me even having to try. I have planted the seeds and I have watched trees bear fruit. The harvest is near and the feast will show plentiful for all involved. This is about finding that match to my self-found sacredness. A sacred man to join me on this journey. To combine forces with my mirror self is to finally live in freedom and love. No abuse. No trauma. No triggers. The kundalini, orgasmic release is where manifestation starts. With every release, we unionize our future. Together. Creating life.

To hold faith for as long as I have and to see the kundalini rise in myself is to see a reality that is not yet here. It is to see truth when millions are stuck in a lie. It is to shine light when others live in darkness. A darkness I have spent nearly 40 years living. On the streets, I recall many men telling me it was because of my smile that would keep me safe. Now, it’s that same smile that men see as enlightenment and strength. I don’t feel safe or protected, but I know my guardians are with me. My smile is proof of that after all the darkness I have had to process for others.

My innocence was taken. It was ripped from my soul. Someone stole my sacredness. As stated, I have had some triggering memories that are held as my truth. I see pictures of me as a little girl and I know that little girl was raped, abused, and forcefully beaten into submission. But still, she smiled. I see the curly hair, fluffy dress and church shoes with laced socks. I see objects and fingers forcefully inserted into her body. Still smiling. Almost saw death from drowning as an adult man forced himself upon that 7-month year old body. Upon gazing into the eyes of that little girl, I see a woman in the mirror’s reflection, but still an abused little girl in my heart. Still smiling though (Odyssey).

She is who’s writing No More Silence in The Church. She is who is speaking now. She is who will help raise my own children. She is sacred. She’s a product of the church. It is still unclear in how I am a product of the church, but as I further this piece, I am going to explore my childhood truth. I will return to the church that I was abused in. I will walk those halls again, smell it again and probably remember more than I’m willing to admit now. There are truths that are unknown, and I cannot keep silent any longer. It is time for answers. It is time for explanations. It’s time to know the truth. I recall some teachings from Catechism (Britannia) and First Holy Communion (The Catholic Company). I don’t remember the Bible or any of the messages from church. Born Catholic, raised Christian. Baptized (Catholic) at birth, never again by choice. Did it groom me (Catholic Ethics)? Trauma induced childhood, pre-teen rebellion. No church affiliation. As I grew into adulthood and with the education, study, and quite a long time in solitude, I found a spirituality about myself that is embedded into the very soil of our earth. It’s the Leo Queen I tapped into when I was in solitude, after I left the streets in 2006, where the story of the Wench ends.

To title myself, I would say I’m Pagan (NY Times opinion). I’m a witch (Witchcraft and Witches). I’m not Wiccan (Learn Religions), but we share similar ideologies. The five-point star (Patheos) is my symbol of faith. The five points represents the four elements (earth, air, fire, water) and spirit (self). It is where I pull my resources when I need healing and direction. When I pray to God, I speak to Him through song and discussion as I worship the land He created. I find my power of prayer and manifestation in the breeze as the leaves dance and fall from the tree in the early fall season. I find peace and grounding energy as I walk barefoot in the soil or bathe nude in a natural waterfall. The cycle of the moon is where I find routine and wisdom for my own menstrual cycle (Nylon). The practices and rituals I conducted have been done as a solo practitioner. I do not share my magic or my practice. My skills and tools will be shared with many people as I continue this journey and publish this piece, but I practice my witchcraft alone. As a mom, there will be a shared worship and practice with my children and the father of those children. I know this. I will go through training or ritual or cultural practice routine that will strengthen the witch within me. Honestly, I don’t know if I can take on another title of religious practices, but that isn’t to say I can’t respect and honor the practice. That’s where the sacredness of my adult life is. It’s the sacredness of orgasm, creation, manifestation, and prayer. It’s the sacredness of spirit. Sacredness is in a child’s giggle, a young man’s tears, and an elder’s voice. You will find sacredness in silence, meditation, and consistent eye contact.

Writing #PaganScripture #JBwolfpack is
wrapped in layers of transitions and a savage wolf pack.

Writing No More Silence in the Church is
entangled with deep sexual abuse and God’s Will.

Writing Black Lives Matters is
mixed with a bitter-sweet knowledge of lived experience and study.

Sarah’s fairytale is engraved in the rocks. Morelia’s waters are flowing. Gregorian’s Gnome Dome is flourishing. Maeve’s wisdom is raising a pack of wolves. Creatures and critters are scurrying and birthing knowledge throughout the landscape and the more I dissect my truth, the more I find my heart center.

Celebrating International Women’s Day, Loving my Wolf Pack, and Surviving PTSD

It’s International Women’s Day

So, it saddens me I am writing this! How do I write about destructive masculine energies on a day we are supposed to celebrate women? How do I write about the struggle I am experiencing when I encounter men who trigger something inside of me that awakens the reactionary survival attitude without sounding like a bitch?

Ah, fuck it! I’ma be a bitch

I am sick of constantly feeling that overwhelming tingling sensation of survival mode when a man speaks to me in a way that triggers abusive memories. PTSD is a son-of-a-bitch, and I’m a host for their family dysfunctions. Mental health, addiction, and sexual and childhood trauma are all associated with my automatic fight or flight reactions.

Most the time, I fight. I want to destroy whatever is harming me and my psyche. I want to end the stinging sensations penetrating my aura. I want to tap into that beautiful, bad bitch Wolf Pack that scurries in my Spiritual Planes. I want to create a bloody carnage of the evil that lurks.

I want to hunt it down, destroy it, and devour it. I want to feel the flesh of this evil in my teeth and its warm life source drip from my lips. The smell. The taste. The satisfaction it would bring.

Oh wait?! There she is

That super bad bitch who’s seen and done some shit

She reminds me to simmer the fuck down! Take a moment. Calm the flame that burns. I can whine, whimper, growl, and even snap my Wolf teeth at this negative energy source. But, I cannot physically harm another.

I cannot physically harm another

She’s strong. My Higher Self. My Higher Power. She sits, resting under an orange tree, next to that bad bitch Wolf Pack Leader. They’re companions. She pets my Wolf Spirit. Strokes Her ego. Grooms Her fur. Studies Her hunting patterns. Watches over Her young.

I felt the rage of wanting to destroy the very thing that was trying to destroy us. It tries to destroy all women. Except this time, I could stand strong in my Queendom. I protected myself without creating carnage. I destroyed the energy force that seemed stronger than me before. I overcame the triggers and used the PTSD body memories to strengthen my life purpose. Something’s changed!

It can stab, slash, poke, cut, prod, and sting my very existence, but my Power within isn’t afraid of it anymore. The darkness doesn’t consume me, it guides me. The Wolf Pack doesn’t destroy, it protects. The triggers don’t control me, they strengthen me. The memories take me back, but the bitch brings me forward.

It’s International Women’s Day

Today, All Women move forward

So Mote It Be!

#CupOfJoBruno

Moving on!