We are the Women. {Poem}

In Hobbies
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Warning: adult language ahead!

We were raped by souls that were tormented by other souls

 

Our wings clipped

Throats slashed

And the blood that remains paints the sky of rouge

 

It’s the layer of heat risen from the fires set on the women who practiced magic

Who devoted their lives to wisdom and wild wonder

Those bodies were covered in gasoline and still we are trying to scrub the aroma away

 

Wash the lingering touches of men who feel like they have ownership

Those men who refer to us as “pleasure houses” and a “good fuck”

Who do not respect the word “stop” and proceed by ripping panties and destroying homes

 

But they didn’t destroy us

Our pussies stayed rooted like oxen

Speaking together in tongues only women could understand

 

The synchronization of empowerment and liberation

Our pussies all whisper in the night

Weaving together collective strength and pain

If you listen closely enough there are howls and screams, sighs of our own forgotten pleasure

 

We are the women we have been waiting for

The souls the grandmothers sent down to heal the world

Warriors of the female collection, an army of bloodshed not by weapons but by beauty

Holders of death and life itself and that is why they fear us

 

Because our ovaries turn steel into thin dust

And hard-edged men into ones who know tears

 

We are the voices of grace and refuge—a sacred space only told in tales and myths

But now we are here, rising like the moon in the night


We are the women

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