What it feels like to be a Woman (crushed)
..
Sand, but I slip through
Cracks in the marble
Like the ink that bled out
through my wounds
Art changes
and re-shapes you
But, not like being chiselled
into moulds of beauty
Expectation, assessed, numbered
new criteria..
and, now, frowns
I'm not ‘good enough'
A world that dared and didn't update you
You opened your mouth
Words came out
The sculptor wonders
if he spoke too soon
Thin fibres of hairs on legs
encased in the clay
(of doom)
Long limbs were there
to be draped
the one chosen, round -
Rounder of the personality
Rounder of the day
Awakening in breaking hairs
that rip in judgement, the pieces apart
Only a woman could be unique
and delicate and beautiful
Strong -
with legs of reckless abandon
Refusing to be defined
in ANY, particular, way
Society talks to our souls
New types of clay sculptures
of bright colours
of brain maps
of wonder
Voices of (one day) yesterday
..and now
Stretching like trees
that are
meant to STAY
Emptied in Autumn
like the branches
Rumbling, biding time
Art opens the rage
and lets it out
We will not be, outside-ourselves, defined
…
tara star poetry
tarastarpoetry.medium.com
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem