create a women designed like thunder
unaffected by the sounds that she will boom.
make her be the source of her creation. the standing ovation of ovarian sisterhood.
make her the build in a nation of men that will stand by her no matter what and will not falter.
make her counterparts build her like she was the temple of the goddess she truly is.
be a voice instead of a smile.
scream into the megaphone and stand taller than the highways that are dividing us like the governments that keep us raped and quiet.
I was born with a mouth like my vagina I have swallowed loads of cockamamie bull and it has lit a fire in the stomach of my turpentine high.
I'm a thunderclap I come after the flash I scare more and I'm heard more loudly now than ever before.
I will not fall from my graceful stances I will rise. rise up sisters rise up.
the time is now to realize I will not take anything less than my deuterostomes creations has begotten me. I'm a woman but before anything else I was atoms who step foot to become greater than my mouthy smile and my dress and you.
YOU ARE READING
Salad Days
PoetrySad poems from sad and angry times. Written from a juvenile time (14 years old) to older. That's what you get when you leave a teen to ponder reality. A pen hits reality harder than high school survival. Original Art from Vivianne Rheaume
