we do not have to beg and plead
to meet with our Gods in mosques and temples.
holy isn’t the space between stone pillars and walls -
holy is the absolute power of our ***,
holy is the space between our legs.
we do not have to hide and disguise
the pain of a hundred muscles writhing and twisting
and sneak into warm kitchens to feed cold stomachs
after hours;
a pounding heartbeat
marking every second stolen to steal food
from a home that is just as rightfully ours.

we do not have an obligation to remain
a glassy lake that lies still throughout the storm,
pleasing every passerby with a picture of themselves;
the narcissists and egotists can go straight to hell.
we do not have to cut our lips on our teeth
by setting our default response to a ‘yes’
when every cell in our bodies unite to protest.

we do not have to pretend to smile at the
uninvited embraces of unwelcome hands and eyes.

because no holy man in a holy temple that exiles women
deserves to rub his filthy hands over the valleys and mountains
of goddesses cast in stone,
and no tradition can lead to the starvation
of a woman who has to bleed if she is to live.
lakes do not stay serene in a storm, they do not surrender;
they bend over backwards and swallow the horror.

you see?
we do not
we absolutely do not
have to
need to
or be forced to
do anything at all -
unless we
really, really
want to.

When the earth has turned to ash
Growing dark and cold
Know, my love, it was you
Who had my heart to hold
You, were my moon
On the darkest of nights
And I danced in your glow
Dwelt in your light