The woman’s bust endured the hardships of all ages.

With hammers and whispered words they come.

Chiselling, sniffing, gnawing away, the cracks filled

With their saliva. I thought: this woman gave birth.

This woman had digested and survived what men

Would kill in response to. In her body, she’d find the

Philanthropy, always, keeping her alive, healing her

Wounds. And they’d build chapels around her, in their

Hearts and minds, your hands in mine, our words for

Each other. I’ve heard the horrid voices on the other

Side of the room, the grimaces of defeat, the sinking hole,

Smiling at me as I was talking more to the dead than the living.

I walked in wrath and silent agony, destroying my body one

Step at a time, ceramics and cremation, I had no interest

In the voyage of phoenixes, until I lost almost every single

Piece of myself. One seed was left, nearly crushed, and I

Shattered all the masks, the bonfire bay, and celebrated what I

Finally saw clearly, undefined, ever-growing, ferocious and incandescent.

woman s face
Photo by Marcelo Chagas on Pexels.com

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