quiet women.

i am a quiet woman
i come from a line of quiet woman
Too scared to open our mouths
And let out what we
think & feel, deep & sure
But still,

We hold the words back
&clasp our hearts in
our chests
Bite our tongue
&just
let it go, (No need
to start a fight)

But,
For my my daughter, I want more
I want her to know
&be sure
Hold her head up,
Be loud and proud
&keep her feet rooted to the ground
Feel the power of the earth
In her every move
Because she is an equal,
no matter what any
man should say

Because she is beautiful
Now&Will be
beautiful as a woman,
an unquiet woman
who can create storms

staining my lips.

i hold my tongue
and drink my bitter tea,
staining my lips,
like a memory.
and sewn shut
are all of those times,
when i needed more,
than a poor man's dime.

(more than just an offering
more than a feather off of
a bird's back,
more than what you're givin' me.
more than i do expect.)

push my lips together
clench my teeth, must
grind grind grind them
down to asphalt and dust,
cage my tears and hide
my hiccups and fears behind:
"i'm fine"s and "i don't mind"s.
and now,
i'm not sure i know any other words
(well at least none that you listen to.)

if you knew.

I wish you could love me the way i need you to
Know when I'm feeling so very alone
and just understand,
hold my face in your hands,
soft skin against your palms,
look in my eyes and know.

that i need you to kiss me real slow,
like you love me so very much
like you need me to touch
like all you want is me.

i wish you knew.
i wish you thought of me
instead of only you.

a reminder.

i hate these silences
and the empty promises
they stretch over the sky
like wispy clouds above our heads

they feel like soft goodbyes and
falling-apart like gritty sand,
all the fights we couldn't mend,
while driving too fast around the bend.

like awkward touches saying
I don't know if I'm allowed,
allowed to touch you.
(am i -- am i, babe? --
allowed to touch your face
and get in your space
or will you shove me down,
shut me down?)

you seem so far away,
drifting along like long summer days,
a ghost of who we used to be
a reminder that this is all we can be.