Poem VI (Trilogy Of Poems About The Female Experience)...
There always seemed to be,
Too many questions,
For the amount of,
Answers she could provide.
Young and unknown of her body,
Young and unknown to her body.
It seemed it was impossible to,
Provide document of ownership of her identity;
That her existence dwelled only,
In the curl of her hips,
The ambiguity of her hair,
And the light touch from the sun on her skin,
Her ancestors gave her many years ago.
Questions that demanded knowledge,
That even she did not know.
Everything was about the external,
But she didn’t feel that was all of her though.
As questions drew her more and more distant,
Between herself and her body,
She drew the only knowledge she knew.
The thoughts inside her head,
Seeds were planted; she grew,
But, who knew?
No one asked who she was,
Within the soul that,
She had nurtured.
No one cared about,
The time she spent,
Trying to build from,
The pain that lurked still.
Because the distance that they all created,
From herself and the ownership of her body,
Meant many dirty hands had touched her,
Her body was the world’s commodity.
But, once she learnt that,
Not all questions deserve knowledge,
And hands should learn to rest,
Her soul was no longer bound to chains,
No longer blind to its body.
Freedom lied within the peace,
That she belonged to no one.
Taking the time to learn knowledge about herself,
Was glory second-to-none.
Life is a con.
A master trickery of sorts,
An ancient game to serve just one.
The man that seeks to know all,
Like an impatient, temptress child.
Finally, she was able to say;
‘I won’t follow these rules,
Long ago; I tossed them out,
Into the wild.’