I wonder how my womxnhood would be if I wasn’t raised by my mother.
I wonder how I would be if I didn’t have the blood of my grandmother running through my veins everyday.
Who taught my grandmother to be the womxn that she is?
Who fixed her attitude when thy felt she stepped out of line?
Who questioned her being?
Who allowed her to feel comforable in her skin?
She walked as if she’d always been sure that her womxnhood was meant to be.
Where did she draw srength from?
God love the womxn.
Bless her soul.
Give her water in her time of need.
You know she needs it.
I am a womxn with a thirst for life.
But this is only on the good days.
On the other days, my throat feels dry and I do not want to drink.
On the other days I keep my curtains closed so you don’t see me;
Becaused being a womxn can suck the life out of me.
To be taught to put everything that’s not for you, or about you, above you
To be taught that you come second and then to step into a womxnhood that demands a self love you have no idea where to pull out from.
I am a womxn with a thirst for life;
But on other days, patriarchy makes it a point to strangle my throat dry.
And what about the days I don’t want to own my womxnhood?
On the days when I feel weak and would prefer my man speak for me…
The days that I submit to men, for I am too tired to fight them
Don’t I get to choose when to be a strong independent womxn,
Am I allowed not to be in the mood?
Am I less for allowing myself to be weak;
For taking the unworthy into my Garden of Eden
Even on the days I wish I weren’t me:
I’ll always be a womxn.
Even on the days I feel the least free:
When united, the womxn in me never tire.