“The Woman I Could Be” a poem

The Woman I Could Be

Somewhere out there is a woman poet screaming at me

She tells me to believe in something

Her loom armed with a string of words so golden

Every emotion inside her heart weaved together beautifully

Devout to the pen and paper

The painted feet of her lonely soul dances on the canvas as she speaks

Painting pictures of her life

Prancing around in the air

Touching anyone who will listen

A loud woman who enchants the room

With her love for this river of sentiment and rage she drowns herself in

That breaches the enclosure we all protect ourselves with

A woman worthy of the title artist

Somewhere else is a woman suffering the hunger pains of power

One who moves mountains with a sharp tongue that strikes those who defies her

With every step she takes, shockwaves of terror

Creep from the bottom of her shoes all the way up the spines of her enemies

Her reach so far she climbs up to heaven

Sees no one around

Builds an empire in the sky and appoints herself God

Second to no one and feared by all

Man asking “Who created me?”

And the woman stands tall and says “I”

They scream blasphemy

Tell her she does not belong here

But still she walks

Head held high bearing a mighty mind

Her drum heart plays her songs of war

She lives for commotion

And will die for no man

I wonder if my steps fizzle out

Even with the heaviest boots

In the quietest room

Can I be like my grandmother?

Big and strong

Crevices in her skin, eroded by the rains of sweat

Giving her life to the burden of her family carried on her back

Keeping none for herself

Bring children into the beautiful world that was so ugly to her

Her whole life spent in that box house she made a home

Filled with love

Decked with weathered floors that groaned as they bore three generations of us

All so she can be locked away into a smaller box

In a grave with no tombstone

Did I ever thank her?

Perhaps I should look to my mother

Harder than stone, sharp as knives

A warrior fighting the world, and herself

For a life worth living

A life worth giving

To me and my sisters

Every morning equipping herself with armor

Crafted over the years of bloody battles

A spirit so rough

A fire that will never run out

My mother the lion

With lamb daughters

Am I prepared to give so much of myself away?

Will I strap on my own armor

And load my gun ready to fight for my life?

What will these women see when they look to me?

I am all of these women

Or at least, I could be