what once was
I’m not going to apologize
to friend or foe
alike for refusing
the bullshit being fed to me.
I’m not going to pretend to like
the taste in my mouth
as it ruminates on my tongue,
bat my eyes and smile,
letting it satiate a sick hunger.
The battles I fight are constant;
the burdens I bear, relentless.
Because there are those
who seek truth
in place of lies,
and others who
I disquiet more and more men as time goes by;
a sign of how formidable I’ve become, I suppose.
I take it as a compliment.
They’ll stand there,
offended by my assumptions of them,
then with tail between legs,
yet nose held high,
amble on as if I’m the one who’s said
something wrong; done something to display
a grave ignorance or disregard for the
dignity and worth of another human being.
Perhaps I should wear a sign:
Don’t confuse my lightheartedness
with a willingness to laugh at your crude jokes.
Don’t mistake my tendency to want to please
for the ability to understand your need to feel superior.
Don’t forget, my feelings and experiences
as a woman are valid.
Don’t look away
just because the truth is hard to take.
Setting my intention for the day;
what needs do I wish to fulfill?
And how can every action,
bring me closer to my center,
bringing me closer to others?
What change can I bring about
so that my life doesn’t stagnate?
So that I don’t just become
what everyone wants
or expects me to become
I come to recognize the divinity
that is my soul?
One starts to realize
they were told their whole lives.
One starts to wonder
why they aren’t
given a choice
or allowed a voice.
We’re born as equals,
yet nurtured to hinder
our own growth
for the sake of others;
cast as “mere women”,
we are secretly envied
for our ability
in a way
That moment when you realize someone is not who they say they are. Or at least, you’re finally willing to admit they are who you thought they were. So really, there is no grievance to claim. Perhaps out of a need to control our fate we accept only the truths we want to be true, when what we’re shown contradicts that completely. Like a mask worn to conceal the reality underneath. Two luchadors circling the ring. And yet somehow it is the one who is defeated that must take off their mask, revealing who they truly are. So many people see that as a sign of weakness. I see it as a testimony of strength.
Photo of Luchador Huracan Ramirez courtesy of Tumblr
on the outskirts of town
right side of the railroad tracks
dreams of willow trees
flutter her imagination;
she fancies herself
riding on the lazy limbs
swaying to and fro,
but fears a hazy breeze
might cast her far below.
she recalls she
once made friends with the wind
but giving it a good gust herself
it turned away;
in revulsion maybe
it would seem not.
it takes a thousand yesterdays
to remember just one moment.