Womanhood & The Misery

it's a short one today.

Where else can you be miserable and be praised for it? Wishing the space between you would grow legs and dance just so you’d have some entertainment in the silence. Every night I play the song I’d be honored to die to, and I think of mama, and how she cups her hands around the smallest of flames. Hope is the thing. You should be able to sink into womanhood instead of having to claw yourself into her soft hands. You should have been able to be gentle in your return, to be held and caressed and told you had power within despite the status quo. All Hail she who wears scrubs and red lipstick because she doesn’t ever “dress down”. She who takes baths with the salts and scrubs that are hers and hers alone because it was a long day, or a short one and regardless. Its cold somewhere, and the bath is a gentle call. I didn’t see her hands were shaking, when I turned the geyser off, and plunged back into the cold.