You, woman, are
Sun
rising each day to
set each night
even though you know the pain of both.
You, woman, are
Sea
spreading yourself across continents simultaenously,
and sometimes into dark caves,
where no one else will go.
And yes, sometimes you are tsunami, sometimes you are whirlpool
– good!
Some people deserve to be washed away,
I hope you make them drown.
You, woman, are
Soil
built from the mud lain before you,
growing things anew.
It’s a slow process, OK?
You’re still sprouting,
so don’t let anyone walk over you.
And you, woman, are
Woman
not a natural wonder or an unnatural disaster,
not divine nor domestic,
not anything you don’t want to be
Just,
woman.
