Grace Storm - For Women

Present

This is just a metaphor to say that now is a gift, one that gets unwrapped too soon, where

wounds get clipped before they bloom, like thorns. It was always a part of us

So why do we let them steal the warriors in our voices, dropping grenades in the center of our

bosoms like suicide attempts to kill our choice? We never needed rib cages to hold our breasts or spines to carry our children on our backs

when the nature of our being was engraved onto our skin by men who have drilled it into our heads that beds is all we're good for

Impristened by the poverty of our mind, famined by droughts of words we never heard like

You're beautiful. You're worth it. What's worse is, we tend to wait for the rain to fall when we've buried buckets of tears in our backyard

crawled through dirty weeds growing between the cracks in our feet because we were told that splinters are things meant to be felt

that blows to our hearts were orchestrated so that our breath could be held

so we kneel like we are nothing but blades of grass in this jungle

we struggle to find the gems hidden underneath our tongues because guns were pointed at dreams we had

and yet we are glad that somehow we still have the strength to carry the bags

under our eyes reciting breaths behind closed doors with handles that's been welded on wrong. Come on

You're strong. It is not your job to wear hourglass figures around your waist

or paint your canvas red and pink as a way to mask your face. It is not your job to straddle along pavements to feel tall or to wear the breath in your lungs a little tighter than before know your worth Know that your existence is not merely a mistake

It is in the beauty of your difference that makes you this great. It is in the stride of your hips that commands your own space

It is in the eyes of our daughters that we must embrace ourselves. It is in the souls of our mothers that we should learn how to be that Proverbs 31 woman

The woman who wears her skin with pride, whose size comes and

in the shape of her heart, whose hair is perfectly balanced between her joy and acceptance

whose height isn't measured in meters, but in how preciously high her thoughts are of others

the woman whose DNA lies in the pigmentation of Christ. You never needed garments of silk to price your tag, or bath-tubs of milk to undo your rag

It was written, in the way your cheeks light up, how inverted bumps make way to joy

as if God himself wrote jokes on the reflection you see in the mirror

And at least you are a story that he once wrote and continues to write ellipses

Because your pages are bound to tell wonders even without the ink. This is why silence is louder than the attention we seek

Our value lies not in what we can give, but in what we possess. And if we have the ability to hold and give life, then we are so much more than just the wife

We are sister, aunt, friend and mother. We have the means to turn one into others, woman

It only takes one match to start a fire. So we ignite the rock inside and see the diamonds in your throat that spill out when you speak

Woman, it is not your job to woo men