girls do it too,
girls know how.
they know what it means.
but they abstain
for their benefit
of keeping it hanging over our heads.

but I,
I am awakened,
I know better.
I know not to let them
get the best of me.
I am More.

We are More.
so much More
than their rag-dolls
hanging off the bed
in the dark lit bedroom
wondering when will be
time to play.

We are More
than a lonesome
playmate.

Maybe it was the very first time
But it haunts me as though
It has happened a million before
From when we are young it sews
Itself into the very fabric of who we are told to be

I took a hit.
Laughter trickled round my ears
Jeers and shouts stalking me
As I walked away, fear building
As I held myself back from retreat.

Behind my eyes flashed up
A drunken stranger making me feel small
I was only 10 years old
But after me they yelled out catcalls
I rushed away, trying anything to forget

Now I am older,
Nothing has changed
Except now I know not to walk alone
And keep off evening trains
If I want to remain innocent and unbothered

I am not alone in this
We exchange these familiar tales
Softly speaking out what we hide
We fast learn it comes with being female
We stay silent to keep our pride.

Lucy, you’re all white
bone-dry hands
but ya face ain’t calm—

Said you were almost complete
dancin on your two feet
but that rouge never lasts till dawn.

Girl you’ve walked the night
long as we can remember
whole worlds seen your hips sway—

Ever wish your secrets had stayed buried?
Baby, s'too late to worry
you’ve been embalmed in fame.

Every night is the same.
"Tonight's the night!" she'll exclaim.

Then she'll hit the town
lips coated in red, eyes agleam.

The only problem is that it never ends up being 'the night'.
Or perhaps it does.
Nobody can really tell.
She's never told anyone what 'the night' is.

How long has she been saying that for?" one person asks.
"As long as I can remember," another replies.
Maybe tonight will be the night.

Whatever that means.

man once said to woman:
you fight like a girl
and she replied:
and you fight like a man
and he said:
that is because i am one
and she said:
exactly
and he looked confused
and she said:
i fight like a girl because i am one

She was a stranger to limitations
She held in her agile mind a vast wealth of information
But there was nothing she knew better, nothing that came more naturally to her
Than disguising her existence, slipping a veil over the entirety of her spirit
She pressed herself into the background like smoothing the glued edges of a cutout to the paper
It came so naturally to her,
This stepping back and allowing the darkness beyond the spotlight to absorb her.
In her heart she loved to shine, but her sparkle was naturally a subtle one,
Just a nod to the brightness that lay in her eyes. And- oh- those eyes!
By all accounts they were lovely.
But she never used them, some said.
She was not the girl to meet your eye. And naturally so, for there was something about her eyes
Something, you see, that made her… the stuff of legends. Dangerous, mysterious, ethereal.
And so her sparkle came only to those who really and truly looked
But that select few was said to be wonderfully lucky.
Because the natural beauty she possessed was something else indeed if one were to behold it
Not that too many were there to behold her
They were in the center, or at least as close to it as they could get
But she, naturally, had fastened herself to the wall
She was a natural flower,
Made to be naturally set aside and let be, she said.
So she slipped her proverbial veil over the natural beauty of her spirit
And let herself fade to near-nothingness. To everyone but her, that is.
But her natural beauty was still evident, not just to her, but to me.

I want it.
Must,
We must.

For it all to succeed and flourish,
kindness, growth, progress,
the key?
That's where we come in.

The goddesses-
the mothers, the heroines, the geniuses, the politicians, the doctors, the sisters, the actors, the saviours-

The Females.

The stars of the show!
The ones to carry a being,
only for them to turn out to be ungrateful, disrespectful, abusers.
of what?
Trust,
Mostly.