Mar 3
Her Story
A poem for Women’s Day
People, perfect on paper
Enter her life and shape her
Some give easy, some give tough
Some are soft, some are rough
Some fill spaces in her psyche
Some are low key some are high key
She notices every detail
razor-sharp receptive
Is this unintentional
or is it preemptive
She observes the difference
does quality control
She factory resets
she is on a roll
She sits with her discomfort,
her pain, sadness and tears
She measures her words
and confronts her fears
She does not feed her rabid hunger
lest it consume her
A cup to her lips
she lets the spirits subsume her
She slowly builds
her tensile strength
She scratches more surface
slightly incensed
She vibes with her tribe
She marches to her drum
She screams her song
even a low hum
She cries, she bawls,
she laments, she rages,
She carries a flood of emotions through ages
She trips, she falls
she makes mistakes
She sees high rewards
for high stakes
Scraped knees be damned
she gets up and learns
She wears her dancing shoes
the world twists and turns
Call her a girl, a mother,
a goddess, a whore
She will rise and rise
till she can’t anymore
She is otherworldly, ethereal
Her shine blinding, celestial
Offer her prayers
sing her glory
This is me and you
This is her story
