World’s Wild Women

I was inspired to write a poem while on the train a couple days after the world womens day last week.

Not to discredit the efforts that brought us here
But to credit the spirit that moves me – a poem about my wonderings.

World’s Wild Women

Celebrating the achievements
Of feminism,
Of equal rights
In the industrial world.
World Women’s Day.
Stop violence against women.
Make love, not war.
Long way home.

I wonder.

Where is the feminine
In feminism?
Disconnected
In this industrial world
Hiding in chimneys like Santa Clause?
When we drop,
Will we be like mushrooms,
Heightening the collective consciousness?

 

What is a woman?
Goody-two-shoes
Wearing borrowed clothes
Pretending to be a man?
What is woman, what man
If not spirit manifested in flesh
Perfect the day you are born
Perfect the day you die.

I wonder.

Are we really this emancipated, sister?

Are we not still afraid to be devastating?
Jaw-dropping?
Juice drippingly feminine?

We can spit fire, they say,
But is it not just feeble smoke
Chuffing from flaring nostrils?
They haven’t seen anything yet.

We are tough cookies,
But I wonder: are we just bitter?
Mortar drying on our heart
Licorice stuffed inside.

We use our elbows
To keep from drowning.
But you forget: Water is our element.
We can breathe under water, love.

We harden up
And our collective soul chimes
When another empty shell
Falls into the pit.

I wonder.

Are we still so afraid
Of our blue feminine
And pink masculine,
Of naked truth and soiled feet,
Of walking proud
And crying hard
And standing tall?

Are we so afraid
That we forget
To be afraid more
Of slipping away
Without leaving footprints
Of dying inside
Long before bodies do?

Are we not afraid enough
Of suffocating
Under cold concrete?
I would rather break
Through
One crack at a time.

Are we, sisters, really still cowering
Before petty words
Thrown our way
By the Walking Dead?

Girly, slutty, bitchy, bossy.

Call me what you will.
Your words betray your fear.

Be patient. Wait.
See me wake up
And move mountains
Off my shoulders.
Softly coaxing
Steady climbing.

Fear, Anger, Pain, Sorrow.
Compassion, Joy, Happiness, Love.
All for one, one as all.
I wonder.

Women, are we still afraid
To be too much
Or not enough?
For whom, for what?

Do we crave love
And validation
So much
To sell our souls
And mother nature too?

I wonder who we’re selling to.
We empty our cups
And feed off empty plates.
Bow and scrape,
 thank you please exploit me use discard me more please faster farther higher bigger harder.

And I wonder.

Do we wait
Still
To be rescued
By the white knight, or the black?

I for one
Am looking for my horse
Barefoot in the dark if I have to.
Covered in the warpaint
Off my beating heart
And beaten tracks

Barefoot, Soiled.
Connected
To every crack and kiss
And this human in-experience.

Yet I wonder.

Where are the role models
That show our children
That we are different
But equal
That we are the same
But unique
That we are all whole
Not broken
Here to embrace the
Wounded feminine
And wounded masculine
In our bleeding hearts?

Let’s cut the crap.
We are one people or none.

Wake up, sleepyhead. Click your heels.
We are desperate for your magic.

 

©myriamparth @yoniloveproject.com 8.3.2017

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