🖤 What Type Of Woman Do You Think I Am 🖤 Poem by James McLain

What kind of woman do you think I am,
With eyes that linger on the dawn's first flame,
Whose lips, unkissed, still taste of salt,
And burns with songs your tongue has inflamed?

Do you see me silent, poised within the storm,
Or fragile as the trembling autumn aspen leaves?
I am the fire that never takes a form,
The moon that watches but never is filled.

I wear the wind as if it were a veil,
And dance through meadowed woods with my quiet feet.
I am the whisper of dusks nightingale,
A fleeting ghost where the dark roads meet.

You wished to be me—free, unbound by time,
To bear the weight of joy without your regrets.
Yet in your gaze, a shadow stirs of me,
A truth you held but could not claim, and yet—

I am no answer to the world's unreasonable demands,
Nor a vessel shaped to fit the curves of me.
What kind of woman? One who through trial can now understand.
What you have lost, I still roam the land free.