the witch doesn't burn in this one

some
fathers
will
c r a c k
their
daughter’s
teeth
with skinned
knuckles
&
when
her lover’s
fist
comes
for her
she will
offer him
an open-lipped
smile.
“it’s just like home,”
she’ll say.

women,

old women,

poor women,

trans women,

queer women,

jewish women,

women of color,

haven’t you
ever wished
you could
dance
in the ashes
of everyone who
ever doubted
your worth
& scoffed at
your words?

when you

take it upon

yourself

to politicize

human bodies

&

the

right to

keep breathing

without paying

a steep price

for it,

don’t

pretend

to be shocked

when we start

to take politics

personally.

woman’s

wrath

is nothing

if not immortal.

the very

idea

of

standing up

for myself

frightens you

so

damn much

then

i guess

the power

you thought

you held

over me

wasn’t that

impressive

in the

first place.

womanhood

doesn’t

have to be

this twisted

competition.

let us

cultivate

womanhood

until it grows

into sisterhood.

we’ll sprinkle

lavender seeds

into our

old wounds

until we’re finally

h e a l e d

more than

okay

to

wake up

with the

overwhelming urge

to cover up

all the mirrors.

self-love

is not

an instant

nor an

overnight

evolution,

but

at least try

to open up

the windows

to let the breeze in

every once in awhile

should keep

floral pepper spray

& pocketknives

tucked

neatly into

our purses

at all times

(because

apparently

even the act

of trying not

to be raped

should look

lovely

& feminine),

abuse is nothing to romanticize.