Close your eyes,
just sleep,
with your hair
tickling
my ears,
hand in mine,
relaxed,
beautifully
at rest,
Asleep
as I dream
in-depth
awoken
to your beauty.

What motherhood is
rediscovering
your whole being

in these multiple foci of endless universes

Finding spots of
happiness
hidden amongst

These oblique moments of time

Learning that
salvation
is

Her

And within

Her

coarse form of courage
to take it

One step a day
Two breaths in
One slow, really slow out

And still
when she goes out

She'll do so brightly

With that genuine smile

Moments that have changed me
Played me
Over and over
Trying to sedate me

I know who I am
That isn't a maybe
People find it hard
They want to tear me apart
To take my heart
To ruin,
my art

You've changed
A voice to me that always complained
People who put me on display
To portray
Want me to obey
A role-model ready to play
Maybe I should just,
let them take me,
a buffet

to be lasted over, but never met.
to be desired fiercely, but never held.
a fantasy. a fetish.
they see you as a threat.

they dream the dream of your idea,
all you represent.
they reach to touch you freely,
but flinch when you touch back.

because they feel it:
your wholeness is too heavy
to carry on their back.
your layers too tangled
to play with just one thread.
your words anchor too deeply
to catch in fishing nets.

you scare.
you amaze.
you trigger.
so they retreat instead.

they give up before even trying
to walk a mile with you.
because they see
the space you take
just being you.

Mimic the voices of the dead
And watch me come alive
Every time

I am Devi’s version of Draupadi
I laugh in the face of oppression
First, I let them stab and crush me
With a calm face
I let them purge my blood out
Like rubber from trees
I let my bruised hands and legs
Shine like trophies
Then I mock
Mockery is a clever woman’s tradition
Passed down like a river
I mock
Them all
I laugh while my ******* dangle
Emptily
I let their ego burn down
Ferociously
And even when I’m buried
I will laugh my heart out from the grave
And my mockery will haunt humanity
For centuries
And my dried blood
On your skin
Will never fade
I am immortal
Even in the grave
I speak.

i’m a woman born where the hills roll like old records,
where the dirt’s thick with stories and the air tastes like whiskey and wildflowers.

the mountains bleed black tar, poison dripping into creek beds,
and the government’s promises stink like rotting meat in a locked fridge.
but the women, ******* — they keep moving.
sideways, under, through the cracks in the system.

they’re not saints or martyrs — just survivors with sharp teeth,
ready to bite through the *******,
ready to carve out their own **** place
in the raw, relentless hills they call home.