She
She who puts herself together
with perfection is hiding the secret
of her own imperfections;
she who steps forward
despite feeling “not good enough”;
she who smiles through gritted teeth
and nods, violently disagreeing
breaking inside, acquiescing
because she knows she cannot
shift the system
She is forming
She who cleans excessively
as she cannot find the one thing
that alludes her – her own power;
she who presses autumn leaves
of dissappointments
into old encyclopaedias, merging
histology with history;
she who bakes and nourishes tribes but
has been unable to feed her own soulShe is churning
She who loves mountains
but lives on a flat plain
without a hill in sight;
She who needs dense trees,
the call of wild birds,
but has the view of someone
else’s laundryShe is moving
She who’s been taken
and moulded
and forced
into a shape that is
not her own;She is rising.
She is gathering
her sisters, walking,
meeting in moonlight
and at dawn
they will paint a new day
© Tanya Southey
#52words52weeks
