Little girls are made

of sugar and spice

Women are composed

of bricks and steel

With glass jaws

beneath plastic smiles

Thus proving,

You don’t have to save face to belie strength

Composure is the silent armor of a woman

God has the whole world in his hands

But even when we manage

To slip beneath

the cracks of his fingers

Women are there

To offer their bodies as homes

To blind men

who worship her image

Foolishly prostrating themselves

Before the temple of her thighs

But they know not of faithfulness

To the reverence of her womb

She is the light and the tunnel

To our drifting souls

Woman will wade

Through her tears

and your sweat

To guide you back to yourself

You will never properly thank her

For her existence as a sacrifice

I am eternally grateful,

That a fraction of my mother’s spirit

Is visible in my volatile reflection

I hope to glow like her

And curse fiercely like my grandmother

And to always walk

With a proud spine like Mama Rose

I am not yet ripe enough

To call myself woman

But one day,

I too will carry

the world in my womb



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