Elfie is the Human Bridge of Nature.
She is the Soaring, Roaring Voice of Nature—
She is Green with passion and Green with rage
To all who silence the voices of Nature.
She issues a stark warning:
No amount of power,
No amount of comfort,
Is enough to justify what is being done
To silence the Voice of Nature.
Elphaba suffers an early ego death.
Like many children bullied by Normies,
She develops a thick emotional callous
To protect her deepest, softest heart,
Which remains beautiful, like the softest pink
Rose petals, like her soft full mouth
Lined with sharp white teeth
To bite down sharply on the necks
Of cruel Normalcy and Uniformism—
A weapon, an instrument, deeply welled rage
Come animate, come kinetic, come explosive.
She is first rejected then embraced
By the soft Feminine, the pinkest Pink,
Bubblegum and mascara.
Her hard Green masculine exterior
Is not dense enough to fool
The wise dandy fool Prince Charming.
She/He/Them see He/She/Them;
He/She/Them sees clearly She/He/Them,
And in that recognition is unspoken Love—
A Love that would surprise the dumb masses
Who flock here and there with a neglectful
Herd mentality; survival of the succubus,
Thrival of the sycophant, a breeding ground
Emotionally capped/neutered/stunted
And scared/scarred human ego.
Who has it harder than Elfie the Bold and Brave?
She who wears the pinkest Pink, the blondest Blonde,
The pinnacle of everyone's desires and expectations,
Bearing the burden of birthright—
A socialite sorceress with a talent for emotional manipulation.
Being the Goodest Good makes
Fertile soil for the Baddest Baddy.
If Gender is Drag, Guh-guh-guh-Linda is the Template Keeper,
Armed to the Nines with
Sparkle and Twinkle (Phatty Sparkle, and Thirsty Twinkle,
If you wink-wink-winkle) by her side.
She sits atop a human pyramid, with very shaky foundations.
She feels the wobble riding the Apex.
She knows she is kept in a Gilded Cage.
She is the baby leopard in a bejeweled collar
And we hope she's happy.
We hope she's happy.
We wish she had more than an ounce of the real Green Rage Magic,
A bit more of the Raw Talent of her Green sister.
She would not be left behind in the soft shackles of comfort.
Listen to the Voice of the Storm.
The crackling shock of Lightning,
The low growling of Thunder—
Listen to the Voice of Nature.
Do not allow the silly human commentators,
Stuck in the muffled middle of the human pyramid,
Articulate the gravity of the situation.
Do not be confused by the locality of the incident,
For everywhere is connected
By one Jetstream gone errant,
A dry riverbed gone on blast,
Another coastline rewritten by a Storm,
Another mountain shorn by the Flood.
What is Green and Black and stronger than Mud?
A Wicked cure for a Wicked illness:
The malaise of comfort, the machinery of modernity,
The myth that cities keep you safe,
And Nature is not your true home.
Green is your birthright,
Green is your calling,
Green is the Goddess.
Listen now, as Humanity is Falling,
Deeply surrender into her embrace.
The transformation will be painful,
Like wings ripping from your spine and back,
Cracking the armor, hear the Monkey Guard
Scream And Howl—
Monkey Men with Magic Can Scream, Howl, and Soar.
It was a Gift of the Green Goddess.
“If you want to protect your families,” warns the Civilized Sorceress,
“Snatch the emissary of the Green Goddess.”
Beware the Monkey King who Does Not Fear.
Beware the Green Witch Now Great with Rage.
Beware the Pink Witch You Keep in a Cage.
Break the mirror, cast the spell.
The real witch is within,
And the Wizard of Oz can go to hell.
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