And to that I say fuck you.
My journey does not need to look like yours to be effective.
We all have a part to play in this orchestrated madness.
My eyes are open to the light and the dark.
The winter of my soul would bring you to your knees, trust me.
Do not look at my fists of rage and judge me.
I look back at my life and see exactly when each finger was pulled down,
Fist forming,
Anger brewing,
Belly full of hot fire.
How did we get here? Where the WOMEN are looked at as less than?
As second class citizens?
The Women? The life givers? The portals? The mystics? The truth tellers?
Who decided this? When did this come to be?
I’ve been in other lifetimes where we were honored and revered.
Where the blood that we menstruated was considered sacred,
Not shamed and hidden away like a dirty secret.
Not looked at as gross but honored in rituals for its literal life force energy and power.
I do not know how this came to be, but I am here, and I will fight back.
With a belly full of fire and a heart full of light,
Because I am allowed to be a beautiful juxtaposition of compassion and rage.
You see, we are all playing our part, our role,
and I’ll be damned if I bend myself to fit in your mold of what that should look like.
No, I have been bent and distorted,
I have been held back and I have made myself small,
I have walked on eggshells,
And I have bitten my tongue.
I have kept my opinions to myself for far too long.
I stand here with my scars and my broken limbs,
I stand here with my love and my anger.
