We are women.

We are not houses,

or cemeteries,

or even a safe space

to lick open wounds.

We are not here to

rehabilitate broken

souls or bury their

unclaimed baggage

within our bones.

We are women with

blood that runs black,

disguised behind

petals and eyelashes

that resemble a

butterfly’s wings.

We are the women that

find themselves shackled

to sad lovers that desire

a home within us,

but haven’t an idea

what “home” even is.

We were not meant

for the pedestals or

carpets of men,

or hiding behind

curls and naïveté.

We emerged from fire

to be carried to the sea,

baptized within the

love affair between

sky and water.

We are women, healers

and guides, that carry

the light and love of the

universe instilled in

our watery cores.

We are also destruction,

hurricanes with bright

red lips and tornadoes

of oppression and fury.

Our patience and

compassion has been

misunderstood for centuries,

and we are the women

that are changing that.

We are not houses,

or cemeteries,

and anything

abandoned

here will go up

in flames with

the bridges that

we burn along

the way.