Every woman is a sequestered notion,
equally wretched as she is sacred forbidden
from and forbidden to-
I can be some contemporary concoction of
adderall and cigarettes, but I’m
nothing more than a lingual threat. Shut your
graceless face: you hold no
magnitude here.
Every woman is a martyr
still trying to undo her mothers and
grandmothers senseless deaths.
The reconciliation between our will
and our ego is dust between
two fingertips.
We do not call ourselves creators.
We see only our frivolous discontent:
clever, petty, and amusing you.
But a body is not made to mourn.
So we cherish our suffering,
fall prey to the same tyrants that rage
within and without us.
We are all derivatives of dirt:
you need not point out my ability to decompose.
Women are a community of human faith
constructed out of fear. Our
reckoning is a new form of prayer, our
lives art forms worth
learning about.
credits
from Moods: Recognition,
released October 29, 2019
Poem by Brittney Pellon
Composed by Nichole Shinn
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