I Am Still Standing on My Feet; I Am the Strongest Woman I Know
From the Rock Bottom Series of Old Poems
I am a warrior.
I have washed in the river the blood from my knees,
and not once did I cringe
when the cold water became one with my veins.
Tell me again how men have to fight to be heard.
You tell me about a man’s right
to hold a woman against a wall until she chokes on her own faith.
Until her tears are no longer prayers,
but an invitation to taste her turned down lips
with his dirty serpent tongue.
Hands were made to hold,
not to leave bruises on juicy thighs,
ambition,
big dreams.
When you slice your fingers on a shattered heart,
don’t you dare look me in the eyes and blame me for cutting you open.
You have already leaked on all of the things I love.
When confidence is beauty,
I will tell you how the pavement felt like sleeping on a cloud.
When the thunder struck, it shook everything out of me
and turned me into a tsunami tide.
I can take down a house.
I can destroy a village.
I can drown a hundred people,
and return unaffected
while sorrow and grief are left to clean up the wreckage.
Tell me that I am weak.
Tell me that I am too small to hold a world alone.
Speak to me about how I should believe in a better tomorrow,
because the smile on the face of a smart, young girl
is the only proof we need of a brighter future.
Tell me how it must be true that happiness is relative,
because as a woman with scars from
the hungry monsters under her bed
she is undervalued.
Still.
Count how many times I’ve left stories on my skin
with morals nobody will understand,
and remain disgusted as you tell me again
that there is nothing more attractive than a strong woman.
About the Creator
Chelsea Z.
A warrior of sorts, since 1993.
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