The Great Release: A Monthly Micro-Death and Rebirth

Each month

without fail

the Kingdom of Self

begins to tremble

🩸

The Queen

ever radiant

slightly weary

and entirely over everyone’s nonsense

feels the uprising in her belly

before the first drop of crimson falls

🩸

A shift is coming

The Great Release

🩸

In the upper chambers

the Courtiers of Ego

Begin to panic

“We’re losing control!” they cry

wringing their lace cuffs

The Council of Doubt

gathers in the shadows

polishing their grievances

The Knights of Fear

sharpen their swords on old regrets

🩸

Meanwhile

in the heart of the castle

the Cauldron begins to boil

🩸

The Queen

unbothered

pours herself a cup of tea

brewed from her own resilience

🩸

“Ah,” she murmurs

“it begins again”

a soft sigh escapes her lips

“It is time for the monthly micro-death.”

🩸

For three days

the skies darken to velvet red

Rivers overflow

Tempers flare

Old stories crawl

from out of their graves

demanding one last monologue

before dissolution

🩸

The Queen attends each farewell

with grace and gratitude

“Thank you for trying to protect me,”

she says to every tired belief

and every brittle fear

“You may rest now.”

🩸

By the fourth day

silence settles

By the fifth

a soft wind sighs through the corridors

By the sixth

tiny wildflowers bloom

between the marble cracks

of the throne room floor

🩸

On the seventh day

the Queen emerges renewed

A little lighter

a bit mischievous

and deliciously free

🩸

Freshly showered

She calls for her ladies-in-waiting

Intuition

Pleasure

and confidence

Together they dance through the halls

dusting the kingdom in laughter

and silk pajamas

🩸

“Let us rebuild,” she declares with glee

“But this time, with gentler walls and brighter light.”

🩸

And so she does

🩸

Until the next moon

when the orchestra tunes once more

and The Great Release begins again