Poem

We are the Women

We are the snails,
Slow in our approach, hindered by such a weight upon our shoulders.
Predators swoop upon us as we retreat inside our shells, silence, darkness, and for this we are labelled obedient.

Or perhaps we are the spiders silently twisting up and down a flimsy thread; foolishly hoping those we lust after will become tangled in our web, and for this we are labelled delicate.

Could we be the fantails? Beautifully formed, flitting graceful in and out of sight, watching, and adored for our beauty not our song.

Maybe we are the lizards, shrugging off old skin tempted by a new life, abandoning our memories of a harsh dry existence.

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