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She

Being a woman without excuse

Born wild
Born different
Born differently
Born to prayers
Born into chaos
Born from the gods
Born close to ghosts
Born weird
Born confused
Born old
Growing young

One could tell
Some could tell
She was different
She was not like the rest

Born strong
Born wrong
Like a song
Played backwards.

She lived.
She was curious
She was surprised
She talked to the trees
And the trees talked back
She asked lots of questions
Of the butterfly and the earthworm
And sometimes the dragonfly
They didn’t mind, often

She wandered
Unafraid
To the boundaries of the garden compound wall
Beyond which was the world
That gave her strange glances
Intrigue and sometimes fear writ large in their eyes

That was when she ventured and explored
beyond thin boundaries of her own mind
She knew she was crazy in a way
And she though it was delicious

Born with eyes open
Born too clever – Born too dump
Born with words tumbling incoherently
As she tried to swallow the world with her dry tongue
It hurt.

She grew
What else could she do?

She was like the wild weeds
She was looking for more seeds
She felt the feelings
That others discarded
She made her garden of weeds

She felt the wetness of rain
And the weight of each drop differently
She could see the soft grey cloud melting
Finally letting go
Reminding her of her own grief
Thick grey full

She felt the agony of the mosquitoes
When the black smoke-gun guys came and killed them
She suffocated

She felt the struggles and rejoiced
As the little seed broke into a two leave clover
She felt born again..and again ..and again.
And she died again ..and again and again.

She cried at dawn
When everything was ruined and torn
She was ill
She was still
As the world and the sufferings came gushing in.

She wept and she swept
Under the bed under the carpets
Where people hid their fears, disappointments an  shame
Some had her name.
Some regrets were kept wrapped in pink shiny paper
as Christmas gifts – a poor excuse for the absence
She had tripped many times

That is when she started changing
Closing up
Hardening
Pretending
Trying to fit

The sky frowned
The caterpillar stopped his mindless eating to look up
The earth sighed
And maybe died
A little
Like her

She felt she had a task
She had to wear a mask
That was the ask
Of the world
She thought.
As the world ‘conformity’ sought
She did. Her way was rebellion
That was the mask

Born first
You learn fast
Burn fast
Get empty and hardened like a cast
Many will be created in this mould
The mould, will remain empty

She has been left at the altar
She has been bruised by the pain
She has been touched without permission
She has been judged without trial

And yet – yet … She will grow

She will show
She will march into the fire
She will stand in the piercing rain and sometimes be the holding cloud
She will perch on the tops of trees and balance
She will tumble in the rivers and sometimes change its course
She will ride the tornado and sometimes become it.
She will lay down on the soft earth and let the worms breathe in and out

She will.
Because that is what she is made of

The Earth
The Fire
The Water
The Air
She is the Space
She is the face


She is.
And there is no excuse.
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