Poetry is not something I put my hand to often. And as I bet you can guess, when I do, it is almost always free-verse. Yes, I do not tolerate senseless rules even then.
There are scars upon my body…and my soul.
Things that tried to kill me…only made me stronger.
If you don’t like scars…there’s the door.
There are lines and wrinkles on my face.
Some from laughter, others from frowns.
If smooth, firm skin is what to seek…there’s the door.
My stomach is round and squishy.
I have fulfilled the unique purpose of woman…I have carried life within it.
If flat abs are all that matters…there’s the door.
My breasts sag.
They too have completed Mother Nature’s cycle…nourishing life.
If silicone firmness is preferable…there’s the door.
Beneath the dyes, lies layers of gray.
I have earned each and every one with love, concern and worry.
If that bothers you…there’s the door.
You see at last…my eyes are open.
I see myself for what I truly am…
Stronger than an elephant…that is gray.
Softer than the breeze…that brings life upon its wings.
Fuller than the longest summer day…filled with love and brightness.
Lined with meaning and purpose…like the pages of a great book.
Marred by history…but unbent by time.
I am woman.
I am life.
I am wisdom.
I am healing.
I am complete.
I am priestess.
I am goddess.