men still beat us
1 in 3 women get it
because they deserve
she's too vocal
or too frustrated
she’s shorter than a blanket
and doesn't meow like the ones in the movies
doesn't take care of herself, or has too much
thinks only of herself
she's sexy, she's looking for it
1 in 3 women is dissatisfied
shows no gratitude
you can't touch her
1 in 3 women, is a strange animal
men still beat us
And they turn into purple universe
everything we haven't accepted in ourselves
all the freedom crushed
and courage without momentum
in dark purple
all the need to be heard
understood
accepted
without being
parents' blind life
faithfully translated into new mistakes
● a birthmark
a woman's hatred brings death near
her screaming seeks embracing
you be the forest where she can scream
you be the echo
from the apartment at 2
1 in 3 women knows visceral fear
knows the pain
and she makes herself tiny tiny tiny
says I'm to blame
says I deserve it
says I don`t have an escape
1 in 3 women knows no gentleness
not even of her own being
nor softness
nor relaxation
only humans that have cut out of her
have humiliated her
only the muscular tension, mental tension, emotional tension.
nothing new
men still spit on us
they tell us we're crazy when we're on our period
they want us to carry everything society has put on our backs, plus half.
weren't you looking for equity?
grandmothers still scold us
for always being naughty
we wanted too much to make our voices heard
we insisted too much
anyway they speak ill of us, my girl, don't give them any more reasons
shut up
make yourself tiny tiny tiny
stop giving them reasons, to snake-tongued people
I'm still learning to accept the woman in me
I'm learning to accept you
and the woman whom`s beaten by
the male in me
women still are in competition with each other
mothers want daughters to be more, better, happier.
girl friends want fairer, cooler but not too much, more loyal.
-I want to be prettier than you
he's my man-
sisters still want our good as long as you don't take my clothes, listen to my music,
don't complain about me
we pretend we don't
but we're in competition and it's stupid
I don't wanna be you
I wanna be loyal to myself.
there's room for both of us
in this world there still are gentle women
without being weak
an assumed, complete gentleness
impossible to subdue
women who can never give up being mothers
once you've become, you're transformed
women who use silence as a gift
who stop aggression with a single look.
who assume positions from which
absorb all the anger and all the fists
and from their threads weave clothes and rugs
and clean rags
i love women-
who protect other women
wipe their wounds and mourn their cries
clean their universe
I tell you you're not crazy, not even when you lose control
I'm telling you that I, too, have gone towards softness
from a space of hatred
I love the women that I'm getting to know
gradually, from this space of hatred
I love you sincerely, shabby, limited
timid as a duckling loving a mother-human
that`s all I can
without asking more, without giving more
with a patience about which the old woman in me teaches me
a callused skin does not bruise easily
I learn visceral trust
animalic and universal
to the woman who accompanies me (x2)
you can be anything but not anyone
I am still learning to accept the woman in me
learning to accept you
I can stay in loneliness without feeling empty or exactly feeling empty
I look inside us
I look at fields of flowers
strong women
conscious women
mothers
imperfect women
I close the eyes
I repeat
flower bud, flower
flower bud, flower
***
