I’m done with looking for answers,
and staring at your face for signs
that I just might be valuable.
Starving for some glimmer of hope,
convinced I see one I’d run with it for days
greedily devouring it to keep me
high enough to support my
happy ever after dream,
but that dream was
always less than I deserve.
There’s never enough time or money
or opportunity to love me Is there?
Always a million fucking miles away
in another poxy galaxy
where I’m the alien, the strange one
the circus entertainment afforded worthless platitudes
or beaten down and isolated by hate.
But there’s always words,
coming from every corner of our minds,
only you can’t survive on them for long.
We all string words together
like pretty delicate daisy chains
so they appear to mean something beautiful.
Now your pretty isn’t pretty to me anymore
no fake bullshit nonsense whipped up
to keep you happy.
Fuck you and your expectations of me.
All the shit you screamed and screamed into
my open mind emptied itself out somewhere.
I’m not turning myself inside out for you anymore
nor waiting for your “that’s acceptable” nod of the head.
I’m not listening to your warnings of danger
nor threats to leave,
you know where the door is.
Now you fear what you tried to suppress,
The WOMAN, the ESSENCE of THE DIVINE.
I survive, The WARRIOR QUEEN of my own life.
I pour my children into this world
to cleanse the filth with which you ruled.
It is their beauty and brilliance
Which you cannot fathom.
Well look closely my love.
THEY COME FROM ME.
-Nicola O’Hanlon, an excerpt from Single Mothers Speak on Patriarchy