Ironic enough
You embody the man I despise when he is loved
That power you hold
I'm aware
You think I'm already yours
Just waiting for you to come claim your prize
now my eyes fill with realization
I refuse to give you more power
So I'll lower my brown pools when I once was warmed with the moment the stares would meet
I'll leave the room to show I don't yearn for your prescence
I will not let you be loved

I wonder if it's a coincidence that every time I look at him, he's looking back at me. A slight awkwardness, but we never address it. So when he held my hand today I wondered if he could read my mind all those times. I wondered if he watches me walk away just as I watch him ,waiting til his eyes meet mine. He matches my tone that screams "pay attention to me" with a tone that affirms he's been watching me the whole time. That's how his eyes always meet mine.

I am a **** good woman.

I may not be perfect, but I am. Does that confuse you? I love the way my smile shines when I see my reflection, chip and all. I enjoy feeling my hair blow with wind, or wet upon my back. I can stand **** for hours, gazing at every curve, or lack there of, that has graced my silhouette with its presence over the past 19 years and 7 months. Content.

I am not curvaceous nor too thin. I stand before myself. Just a body that did not ask for it's formation when it was sent from heaven, still holding hips that will bear children, breast that will feed villages, hands to uplift the child.
I am a **** good woman.
I come from a womb of the strongest woman I know. I bleed blood from her veins, bared skin that she's given me. I am molded from great women. Their features arrange themselves on my face, their vocabulary runs rapid across my tongue, memories madly through my mind.
I am a **** good woman
I have loved fiercely with compassion. It is without vanity I have compromised myself to love.
I am a **** good woman.*
How dare you think I am not enough?
I came from your rib! I am a part of you.
I have walked miles for mankind, cried for those before us, hurt from wounds you thought were long healed.
Still, I rise.
Impatient to be loved by a man worthy of my greatness.
A man worthy of the long walks of lonesome, sight seeing of chauvinists and fools gold we mistook as lovers.
However
With or without man I am woman.
A **** good one at that.

It is not without great vanity that a man loves a woman. She sits hours upon days, sunsets upon moons, waiting to be missed. He is inconsistent with his efforts, and as her love swells, he retreats back to the mannerisms that exemplify why women want what they can never have. He looks in the mirror feeling so lucky to live in his skin, so lucky to be so loved, while she looks in the mirror wondering what it is about her that does not intrigue him enough to fully commit to a heart as fully committed as her own. He knows his power, he wears it well.
It is with great vanity a man is loved.

It's like a fantasy world.
All these amazing people in one place
Connected because they have 1 thing in common
They are diversely brilliant
I'm in this place
And as I sit in a chair marveled by everyone speaking of their goals ambitions and interests
I can't help but be proud that I equally am as diversely brilliant.
He knew my name before I said it.
She did too.
Another interrupted me as I introduced myself to brag about my accomplishments.
We are young and gifted. The rare breed that is not so rare when we are in this place.

I wore you on my wrist today.
Blew the dust off the black velvet.
Twisted the heart back into place.

I don't have a metaphoric way of expressing how I feel tonight. So I won't try.

I won't try to describe a love I'll never know, nor maximize the mere encounters I mistaked it as.

It's quite ridiculous now that I think about it. All these writings about these people that don't consider themselves lucky to have had me. I won't try to prove to them that I'm worth the appreciation. I'll just sit here thinking of Augustus Waters.

*I love her. I am so lucky to love her.