History exists thanks to ladies. The covenant of all of your connectivity is the result of some female bringing you unto this world. While it includes the importance of masculine partnership, we simply wouldn’t be having this sharing without the babes. Therefore, in juiciest respect for any ounces of femininity that launched our ability to sail and soil this earth, I felt the need to write a piece about the nuzzling effects of my aligned gender. Especially flanking the honoring happening with this being Women’s History Month and today’s International Women’s Day celebration. I’ve boarded the wisdom train of more than my personal share of wondrous women to craft me into the unparalleled pussycat I’m as proud as to be known. From public or private protests to a plethora of profanities and peachy-keenness to bang-up bounties is the artful arc of what it is to be womanly.
When achievement is an understatement you should be guessing you’re in the presence of breathtaking genius. Although the confessions of the varied sorts of ancestral skins, petticoats of docility to frivolity, and onward to feminist parades or tirades speak volumes of principled problems, aka womenfolk who’ve continued to (have to) work to resource their raucous toward revelatory integrity. Patriarchy may have considered us cavities. Yet, they forgot the value of a crown. ‘Queen’ is hardly exclusive to royalty from where I preach. I’ll swallow none of life without y’all by my side. I’ll fill you to my brim and everlong appear better if you’re the bustle to any of my hustlings. The common decency I’ve garnered is the lethally vibrant combo of my brain plus boobs meets my cherry-popping charisma bonus. Our roar is the boon you ought not cut off so soon.
The sisterhood of my internationally-curated traveling pants won’t ever evade me. Regardless of country or culture, I’ve found that the gifts of my girl-clubbing ripple any roadkill with laughter, bear themselves harbingers of pedestals they’ve helped me climb no matter the weather, whilst smothering me in saccharin support after all pissed punch-drunk with huge portions of potion number nine. The geekery femme influence is the farthest thing from fatal. Rather, dames are your fateful ammunition. If, but, I’m still trying it on to this fifty-first year of my living. Across the aisles of conferences greats or nearly nose to nose with a possible future date. Under full moons with circled wombs of all ages, as we call to spirits from every realm to empower us. Between stacks of bosses disinterested in my grace. Somewhere there’s always a she teaching me to buck up and out boastfully with confident ease.
I appreciate your cores that keep me stored with infinite colors whenever darkness looms loudly. I’d go to large whale-lengths for you. I’d shave my head in solidarity, start a commune (provided we’re not giving up sexuality), sit patiently at your bedside remembering and retelling every story of your limelight, and embark any suffering to spare you pain. Your nakedness blows me away. Whether it’s behind closed doors, stomping inventively along Black Rock playa shoals, beside me during some random raver campout, or steaming in a natural pit of hot springs. Also because we just damn well deserved it any of the times through childhood to adulthood, for skinny-dipping thrills, or swapping softly layered liplocks from head to yoni shores. Feminine unbridled nurturing is the urgency my marrow mutates to churn misfit gambits onto their bellies of adventurous accomplishment.
Most of my transit, I’ve instinctively looked for myself in everyone around me. The females who’ve made me are as diverse as the stars in our cosmic cradle. They’re veteran worriers and warriors all the same. Fortified on fairy dust and Nazi annihilation, every global to emotional language, their talents transcend awards or accolades. Some intimately have legacies I’ve paved my moves to mimic. Others, I trip inside to shoot myself farther. Merely a twinkle from such a stupendous lass puts you in the upper class. Her calm can eclipse near any curse. She makes togetherness an appreciation akin to sticky sweetness you admire leftover on your teeth. Interspersing your universe with enough good women is like the binding on the bible to those religiously faithful. Woman is my religion. Her ~ my god(dess) of creation. We’ll rule eternity since we’re built on the durational depth of its expansion. For she is the mistress and the muse of all things love.
SHEroes ~ She rose… and as she did and does and will do… is as infinitely beautiful as a rose.