Girl: Do you still remember what wild tastes like?
Woman: Have you ever seen your reflection shattered? A thousand pieces of everything you are scatter at your feet…
Girl: Don’t you miss sleeping half the day away?
Woman: There’s nothing as wild as waking up before the sun, just to be woman who gives birth to a new day.
Girl: Aren’t you worried you’ll cut your feet?
Woman: I spent half my life jumping over eggshells, nothing is more exhausting, you learn to live with it.
Girl: With what?
Woman: The weight of your womanhood.
they dance on, about life like things;
when to let go, how ashes give birth
to new life, how heavy second chances
are, how pretending to be friends feels
a lot like love, actually…
tangled in strings that stress
the breaking point, how to press
your palms flat, but that still never
brings down the glass ceiling, how some
days the horizon hangs so low to the ground
you can’t tell if you’re a heavenly creature
or earth bound, they redraw lines to manmade
maps, hold a candle light vigil at the moment
when womanhood wins; when hips and breasts
fight over which one gets to fill
the little black dress that was never
made to fit your big dreams, your body
pushes at inseams, and you wonder…
will you ever forget what wild tastes like?
will you ever own enough self-control
to tame the parts of you that no one can hold (down)
will you ever give (in) so much, that there’s
nothing left? will the woman still see the girl
that she used to be? the girl who birthed the woman