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Have you ever noticed…
when something goes wrong?

Society goes to blaming the mother,
we women often don’t know how to support each other.
We women also had a mother, who had a life:
a father, a sister, a brother, and a lover.
We mothers have an inner child—a newborn baby,
swaddled, warm milk and honey, a need for caring—
unknowing how to parent us, our mothers, our guides.
Be kind.

Somehow I understood this as a child, somehow
I wanted to protect her and hide. But when we are re-birthed
and when we bring forth new life,
suddenly our wounds are cracked open—showtime.

No pain no gain, put your makeup on again.
We’re supposed to cradle civilization,
be the portal of worlds, hide our hurts,
no parade or celebration.

Precious life cracks our bodies, minds, souls wide open.
No emotional or mental health warning,
for the sleepless nights, no signposts for the highs and lows
no warm tea waiting—baby’s breath, the heavens awoken.

And yet—witches is a term of fear,
we are the magic, we are the silenced,
infinity charged and pure.
The tender hugs and sweet caress, the needing,
the wanting, your heart is their nest.

This is our thanks and it is beyond millions,
but the loneliness ensues, gratitude shilling.
This is our career, and the queen stands alone—
they think we don’t need a voice of our own.

The men must shine, they need your approval
behind closed doors forgiveness, coffee, juice, and a bagel.
You cry for help, as you hold their tears,
you aren’t allowed to feel your fears.

And if you do, society quiets you.
The family, the friends, the enablers
can’t see, the bruises on your soul, the desperate plea.
Please be quiet, we don’t want to know.
Just hold your baby as she fights her cold.

You have no milk? You can’t bring home silk?
Papa can do, he’s rested—you can’t and you flee?
He’s doing it all and making ghee.
He’s at the games, when you’re on one knee.

Where have they gone—when you’ve been framed;
where have they gone when you’ve been maimed?
And god forbid you use words to defend—
shut up woman, you’re ruining the end.

And when you crack, and you melt into wax,
you’re seen as unhinged, the others for the win.
Oh, I’m sorry, do my feelings make you
uncomfortable? Good.
It’s been way too long that I’ve been
misunderstood.

You say too much, you say too little
there is absolutely nothing in the middle.
Love is blood and blood is thick,
red crimson lips, god we’re quick.

I am loyal, through thick and thin.
My soul is stronger than your bricks.
I have no regrets; my only sorrow
is that the little I say restrains my tomorrows.

 

 

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