we are

we are women
who love men
who love themselves

women who risk and
pray
and rise
and pray
and lay
and pray

we are women
who plan
and plot
how to roll away stones
at tombs
hostile
takeovers
in Sundays
best

sometimes though in the quiet
of the morning
in the stillness of the trees
who sit undisturbed
nothing can be heard
but anxious breathe

we want to scream
in the silence
make a scene
disturb the stillness
so that
for once
something can feel like we do

have you ever
held your self together for someone else?
taken shallow breaths so someone else could exhale?
have you ever cried for 90 seconds
because that how long you had?

we are women who love
women who love us
when we cant love us

we are women who work
and wait
and wait and work

women who try and ty
and try and ty

made out of silk
and cotton
our hearts are woven together
tightly until we give someone
a pair of scissors
and the potential to hurt us

we are women
who take the mess
of life and make masterpieces

women who live in a world
but are from somewhere not of here
we are of the soil
and the sand

women who know we are only as strong
as our last heartbreak and
best friendship

The older we get, the more we understand that the women who know us and love us - and love us despite what they know about us - are the joists that hold up the house of our existence. Everything depends on them.