Their little toes
little hand
little nose
them learning to stand!

I'm still only a child
and kids are absolutely wild
but with every baby i pass, i smile
cause one day, it'll be me compiled.

I will always defend you
My spirited child
One day you'll sit quietly
But for now, run wild

Laugh loudly, cry freely
Get mud in your hair
Let rainbows and sparkles
Dictate what you wear

Have no inhibitions
Sing and dance as you please
Come home with wet socks on
And scuffs on your knees

Fizz with electricity
Spin round and round
Do cartwheels and swing
Until the world's upside down

Delight in the lights
When we drive after dark
Keeping waving hello
To every dog in the park

Ask questions, big questions
'What about when we die?'
Look for the loved ones
We lost in the sky

Play fight with your brother
Make him laugh till he cries
And chat from your car seat
The what's, when's and whys

One day you'll care
You'll sit quietly and blush
We'll get there, I know
But for now, what's the rush?

I will always defend you
My spirited child
You're never too much
You're bright, free and wild

Growing up as a girl, I watched and learned,
The truths of boys and men often go unturned.
“Boys will be boys,” a phrase we all know,
Implying that girls must shoulder the load.
This notion suggests that girls mature fast,
Leading to women who pick up the cast—
An unspoken burden, a silent decree,
To bear the weight of their irresponsibility.
In a world steeped in misogyny’s grasp,
Women face judgment; their futures unclasped.
Absorbing the shame of the games that they play,
While men to walk away, free to go on their way.
Many men abandon homes they once called their own,
Now seen as free, yet their true selves unknown.
Disgrace drapes over women like a heavy yoke—
A weight of neglect that shatters their hope.
This yoke is forged from promises unkept,
From fathers who vanish while their children wept.
He escapes guilt with practiced ease,
Dodging duty like a ghost on the breeze,
Claiming children and a wife he never knew,
While society laughs at the pain he withdrew.
Leaving his children to carry his woes—
Their identities shaped by the hurt that he chose.
His children learn quickly to shoulder the shame;
They remember who was the burden of blame—
Like he who claimed love but was never there.
Those left to carry his name feel the strain,
Learning of unfairness that echoes their pain.
Abandoned women and children continue to grow—
A daunting endeavor men wish to overthrow.
Yet shadows may linger, and burdens remain;
They’ll carve out a future where hope will maintain.
For every struggle faced will lead to the dawn—
A testament to strength as they carry on.

Agèd lady sits,
holding her silver and gold —
Anne, Mary, the Son

Anne’s daughter’s the moon,
sits on the throne of wisdom —
crowned in golden stars

Moon begets the Son
who’s fathered by breath of flame —
Both pierced by a spear

Two women, one son —
A motherly trinity
that shines in splendor

when i was younger I would crawl into bed and try to stave off the gut-crush of guilt. i was guilty about everything. everything was small and somehow the biggest thing in the world. (please just make me clean. i only want to be clean. i am a good person, i promise.) it guilt came crushing in. usually i would cry. if i couldn't fight it off by myself, i'd roll in on myself like a dying bug. limbs a tangle. twitching slightly. sometimes i could catch myself. count myself into oblivion until i forgot whatever it was. (please just make me clean. i only want to be clean. i am a good person, i promise.) usually i'd holler for my mother, my god. quiet, at first. finally loud enough for her to hear me form down the hall. (god wanted to watch tv. god probably pretended not to hear me until i was screaming.)
"what's wrong?" she'd ask me.
"can you come in here, please?" my voice. small.
there she was, every time. a gray silhouette in a slice of golden light. and i would confess to her, like she was god. I was not raised religious. (i needed something to cling to.) she absolved me every night. scornful, reassuring. (i think i am lucky i was not raised catholic. because i had a god who loved me.) she taught me guilt and burned me free of it every night.
i don't confess anymore.
i have not seen god since i was twelve and my other became human. sometimes i think of writing letters and burning them, to purge the crushing feeling form my chest. sometimes i think of making myself throw up. most of the time i switch it off like she taught me, think about something else and fall asleep. (i sleep with the light off, now.) the dark does not stroke my hair. the dark does not tell me to apologise. the dark does not tell me i am good, that it isn't my fault. (i still need someone to tell me it isn't my fault.)

Hi, I'm

little girl, you're a dreamt dancer, a once hopefully ballerina, in a music box that was built at an early age.
bigger life will be reflected back to you, but not for you.

This is my wife,
This is my mother,

young woman, why are you here?
why did you let them do this to you?

I call her Honey.
We call her Mom.

"no, wait, I'm
know me
remember who I am/was," you say.

Honey! Where is...
Mom! Can you...

          , far from the path now.
a maze of thorns and always sickening surprises.

must get the dose right, must make sure the carb count is right, must check that the blood sugar is right for the son who can't do it himself.

life's toss of a coin, suspiciously rigged perhaps? superstition? i don't know, but you're cornered, back to the wall, no railing.

must do all the paper work, must support all of his dreams, must do all of the planning, mustn't have time for yourself, your life.

must continue.

HONey! I need you to...
Mom! Look at...

where have you gone, dreamt dancer?
oh, to the Graveyard.
inside the mind where wild thoughts and hopes and adventure go to pass.

no support, only frayed webbing leading to nowhere, or to venom, sister, brother, "friend".

only you now. and me I guess. unwilling, but an understanding therapist. an angry observer and a tired voice. the daughter to the mother.

Well, what the **** do you want me to do, HONEY!
Mom! Come here!

you're tired, I know. painful sleep and long nights dedicated to other people along with your mind. your body, your bones are load bearing. it's an incalculable weight when caring for others.

Insert Your Name Here:

HONEY! HONEY! HONEY!

I don't know, HONEY! HONEY!

Mom! Mom! Mom!

Hey, Mom!

The goddess looks breathtaking
In her red saree, an emblem of marriage.
Her skin is soft to touch,
Yet she carries a heavy sword in her hands.
The goddess looks serene and calm,
Only that she is about to **** the darkness of demons who are awaiting their freedom.
The goddess wears Kohl in her eyes,
Only to smudge it with her tears.
As she wins the battles plunging the heart out of evil.
The goddess is a mother, she wears red bangles, a colour for both womanhood and rage,
Intertwined and interconnected since the beginning of time.
The Goddess has given birth to her children
with great pains and no agony can beat her strength.
As Devi would not hesitate to become a bloodthirsty Kali
To protect her children.
Divine femininity I bow to you.
Men can only know the power of violence,
But Devi knows the power of love,
How in times of war, it can be our biggest weapon.
Fueled by the energy to **** not out of hatred or Revenge,
But love that led a Mother to pick up arms
So she could protect us all
from the evil that harbours within.
Devi is divine feminine and I bow to her.
She has been created from the strength of all mothers and sisters and daughters.
She tells us the ancient tale of
how women always have had the hidden strength
To leave trails of destruction, only when forced.
Devi does not bleed every month only to be scared of the blood of
evil rakshasas on her hand.
The goddess will happily drink it
And decorate her hands with the demon's blood,
Spreading it on her fingers like red henna.
Devi looks focused, almost peaceful as she kills Mahishasur.
She doesn't want the glory of power.
Her only truth is love.
Even in the heat of battle, Devi's beauty shines through.
Divine Feminine, I bow to you.

I am their morning, day and night
their safe space
their order

I am their moral compass
their teacher
their emotional border

I am their chef
their driver
their planner and their friend

I’m also their foe
their dictator
"the worst", their dread

I am all of the things
all of the time
no matter what they think they need

I live for them
I always have
for ever, I concede

I am their home
I don't take that for granted
although some moments I lose grip

I know they will push me
I swear to do my best
My love for them is infinite

sweet and sour,

he is ******* sap

from the **** of a

talentless swine.

her sapping, sip-less, sticky syrup-

succulent, seeking severance,

his salty belly-

spewing bile, screeching,

his barren belly-

bones shattering, squelching

his bloat-less belly-

innards squished,

her hooves so unkempt-

suffocating him with such ugly, udder-less love.