Born from fire
And breast feed solely
On feminine strife-
Sometimes the milk of discrimination
Trickled, while other days
It flowed like a babbling brook.
Instead of pretty pink bows
And dolled up like a lifeless
She was given a choice,
A variety of colors and styles.
But she was mocked in school
Bulky shoes and wifebeaters
Dark jeans and AirForce Ones
Cornrows neat and tight
Instead of girl section- age 9-12
A tease of a skirt, twirling
On smooth and buttery thighs ;
a wisp, a blouse
Revealing budding breast and
A swan like neck, soft and slender-
A perfect pretty place for chains;
A pink collar with diamond studs
And lined with angora fur.
For that they mocked,
Not knowing the hell they would soon awaken from.
A caged beast, beating at her cage;
A fragile swath of wings, a butterfly
Pinned to a collector’s wall,
Screaming a shrill sound as
People idly walk by-
“As a trained gardener,
It’s important to treat every flower the same;
In the aspect, they all need to be cared for and loved.
But with this particular flower; the female;
It takes an expert to help sustain this bloom.
When this flower blooms,
The eve of its awakening,
It’s a perilous and awe-inspiring moment,
Take notes, pictures
As you take in one of nature’s miracles.
If this flower is taken care of;
Inspiring words, patience, endless,
Endless, boundless, tremendous amount of love, allow the love you feel this flower
To overshadow any doubt or hesitation…”
For the girls who were taught that being yourself is wrong, an abomination, not girly, manly-
Forgive them, for they live in abysmal ignorance.