The Power of...

My tenderly torpid physicality...suspended by gracious gravity over a bravely mustard yellow yielding, conforming to the brawny-esque that should be my heart shaped ass - as if I could not conjure up a method to illustrate the spread of the underlying claims of humanity like thread unwinding between two pieces of insouciant fabric. Unraveling - slowly disengaging from the opening from which it was inserted by a prick; a perforation made by slender carbon steel points. In and out like an inhale and exhale...like the necessity of polarities - by hand or by machine - the motion creates an intense heat, an impactful energy...fast or slow...like a pseudo-luminary disconnecting hapharzardly over the threshold of nothing.

Nothing.

Darkness without any light.

The blood, it drips fervently to the ground to remind me why I was meant to survive - monthly by any means, keep me alive; for lineage, for ancestry - raise one arm up into the air and tighten up your fist and shift, sway it with a passionate authority...your power...is the power of femininity...because without the flower you would not exist!

Equal Rights Amendment, FUCK YEAH! No, my strength is not stronger but my voice is. You can violently pummel my face into the ground until I can no longer see through the teary brown eyes that cry R-E-S-P-E-C-T but my spirit moves on through my voice, through the muscles in my throat, through the echo that extends over the world like a cloak without end; lingering words of equality to those who fear civility, who fear reflections of themselves by the color of their skin because they think they wear theirs so well.