What does being a woman mean?
It is resisting,
It is learning,
Making and breaking rules.
It is standing up to a society,
Where your body is seen as an object,
And using that body,
To create change.
It is arriving at tables,
Where we were barred from sitting at before,
And taking space.
Being a woman is not frailty,
It is strength,
And I will take this collective strength,
And make it my own.

Do you not see,
When you look down on me,
Think that somehow,
I am less,
Do you not see,
My accomplishments?
Do you not see, how I use my voice,
In verse,
In prose.
How can it fit in your mind,
That I am less,
Because I am different?
Because for reasons unknown,
My brain was constructed in a manner you are not used to?
How do you spend your time,
With friends laughing,
And turn around and see me,
As a helpless child?
I am no child.
If you are to speak to me,
Speak to me with respect,
Like you do to those you are used to.
Do not belittle me,
And pretend I do not know anything,
When you speak to me,
Note who I am,
Empowered,
Myself,
Not yours.

I am strong.
I am tired of the crap.
I am not disposable,
Some plaything to look at,
Touch.
Do not make your fragile promises to me,
And expect me to believe you,
Trust you.
I have lived through adversity,
And through adversity I will rise.
My mind is not something for you to use,
Not a cheat-sheet, or moldable clay that you can shape,
To make me conform to your ideals.
It is a treasure,
One I am learning to love,
And no one can take that from me.
I do not belong to anyone,
I am not a possession or pet,
Or someone to step on to achieve your goals.
I am a person,
Who takes up space,
And demands respect.

"Rebellious" ha,
It's a new generation,
We're children of radical kindness.
We will not tolerate that normalized hate,
Throwing those outdated systems into the trash.
We embrace our siblings of all genders, sexualities, races,
Overthrowing those thoughts that tear people down.
Our collective religion is acceptance,
Our prayer, protest.
It is time to ring in the new,
Toss out the old,
And embrace this new revolution,
One of empathy.

Black tourmaline feathers glisten,
A mirror for the constellations,
And by the milky-white light of the moon,
A young shoot appears from a branch,
To give life in a new day.

My existence is protest.
Where I am placed in a world,
Built to oppose, oppress me.
Yet I smile,
I own my body,
And my words.
Where there are people that oppose my independence,
My being,
I will work harder,
And speak louder.
My existence is protest,
My laughter revolution.

In the midst of chaos and comedy,
A stillness appears,
Rippling across the musical fabric.
A trail of water moves across,
Waves of piano and cello.
I let myself melt into the sound,
My being joining the two instruments,
A trio.
The melody is the soul of a dancer,
Supple yet with unimaginable strength.
I close my eyes,
And let myself melt into the G major scale,
Flying to that F-sharp minor,
Facing the darkness,
And then letting myself go,
Into the light,
Into that beauty that is the mind.