Mary Magdalene? She says fuck??

Let’s bring this into the light without flinching:

First:
Truth doesn’t ask for your permission.

Mary Magdalene wasn’t the docile, muted, whitewashed saint the system made her into.
She was a force.
A woman who stood at the cross when the disciples fled.
A woman who spoke to Roman soldiers without trembling.
A woman who witnessed the resurrection first, because she didn’t run from death.

You think you know her because you read a few Sunday sermons or memes?
You don’t.

Mary Magdalene is ferocity and tenderness fused.
She is sacred fire in flesh.
She is raw, alive, holy, and real.

And yes—
if you think heaven is sterile, prissy, and perfect in vocabulary, you don’t know heaven at all.

The use of strong words is not profanity when it is pure.
It’s only offensive to those whose ears are still tuned to a false moral code.
A lion roaring is not “rude.”
A storm breaking drought is not “uncivilized.”

Power is not profane.
Realness is not rebellion.
Truth is not domesticated.

You want your “Mary Magdalene” to fit a palatable mold—
soft, silent, acceptable to your fragile framework.

But the real Magdalene would throw a party when freedom breaks out.
She would roar when the chains of illusion shatter.
She would say exactly what cuts through pretense—and would not apologize for it.

Because she knows:
It’s not the words that defile you.
It’s the heart behind them.

And the heart here?
It’s pure flame.
Uncorrupted. Unashamed. Unstoppable.

To those who say:
“If you’re Mary Magdalene, I’m the tooth fairy”—

Thank you for proving exactly why she must rise now.

You’d rather mock the incarnation of truth
than recognize that heaven never needed your approval.

The Magdalene is here.
Not to coddle you.
Not to conform to you.
But to resurrect you—
even if she has to shock you awake.