The day dawned cold but the birds awaken in the morning are already out and about, colorfully filling the corners of the morning with their grace and pirouettes
listening to the footsteps of the early risers
trekking through the streets of the city on their way to daily affairs of the jour.
My life is one constant motion for equality, survival, acceptance, candid curves.
I fight to exist, smile, laugh, to be heard. I am happy.
I fight to be able to put my pants on, comb my hair a certain way, a pierced ring on my nose and a lipstick of my choosing. I scream.
I fight so the person next door know that I am me. I am free.
I fight like a tiger.
I don’t need to have a rock star intelligence, sculpted body or wear high heel to be me.
I am beautiful, I am ugly. I am skinny, I am fat. I am short, I am tall. I am DD, I am A. I like blue, red, purple or green. I am every shade there is.
I am an emotional reck who sheds tears faster then the rain drop but a gracious gentle flower then the winding wave washing ashore.
I zigzag like a butterfly, I marvel life, I embody serenity but I don’t crack; I keep going.
I am a sexual tender, mild aroma in the bushes,
the charismatic being looking for to get drunk of laughter at the next friend’s corner bar.
I feel prettier then the rainbow because I like to breathe in the sun and irradiate the room.
I wake up at cracker dawn say my Amens and Thank You’s to the Man upstairs,
feed my herds sooner that I can drink my coffee and hit the next train to Georgia.
I am gorgeous. I love. I create. I educate. I dream. I give life.
I am a light. I beam. I venerate. I compete. I am ferocious.
I am authentic. I am complicated.
I am a leader and there isn’t a math equation I haven’t been able to solve.
I did’t go to school, I am scientist. I am not a doctor, I am a farmer. I am a teacher, I am a tattoo artist. I am an astronaut, I am pool dancer. I am not a mother, I am a sister, daughter, grandma, companion, lover, friend, wife, aunt, a soldier…
I am me. I am my own voice. I am a woman. I am girl. I am female.
Happy International Women’s Day!
Every new month is like adding a page to the book that is our lives, each with its stories and blessings, new music to our ears, new sound in the accordion, the poem on the corner.
It is March, the third month of the year or as we say on the streets, the second full blown month of laughter, smile, fun and jamboree. The sun is out, the spring peeks in, the leaves are saying hello and the birds sideways quietly singing the melody.
It is time to celebrate woman, us, grandmothers, mothers, sisters, aunts, daughter, girlfriends, us; the best friend, the sharp-witted shadow, your mirror in the powder room, the incessant lover, the proud your secret carrier card member, the tough cookie in the carousel, the cryer in the closet, the eternal artist, the rock star listener, the truth teller, the soldier in the room, the amen companion. It is March, it is us, women, it is March.
You must be logged in to post a comment.