My heart cries out
to the women
afraid to be women
they don’t claim their power
certain the sword will slice them
Or they hide their truth
because it’s easier
because it would upset
because then they’d have to explain it
Or they put on a mask
of a man, or another
not willing to stand out
as if their bones would break.
Don’t they know?
my heart weeps
the immense joy of expression?
the weapons of truth they hold
tucked deep inside their womb?
the strength of their bones? that bend-not break-to bring in a new generation
the loveliness of their ugly? once it’s brought into the light and sparkles with knowing
the ability to shed and renew? without thinking, but rather feeling, because pain can be another power
To them I say
You are not a sheathe to a sword,
a place to hold the strength.
You are a force, built from moon and tides.
You are sacred and hold sacred space within you.
You are not an apology, a reason, an excuse, nor a ripple in the plan.
You are the wave you create and if you choose to ride it, you will find yourself among the heroines: