Poetry
I Want To Find That Woman
And there are so many like her in this world
I want to find that woman who had blood splashed on her face.
The blood that ran in her little girl’s veins.
As her child came out of her womb, she did not wail.
She just bled to her death in front of her mother’s eyes.
And her soul left for heaven with the angels.
Now her child is gone, and she has blood on her hands today.
The one that belongs to her child’s killers.
That woman made those men bleed.
She made them pay for every sweet little cry
that never came out of her mouth.
She became the destruction everyone feared.
And mourned for the creation that never got to breathe.
I want to find that woman who has broken wrists and bloodshot eyes.
The woman who mends her bones with faith
as she walks on the slippery slope of hope every night.
Those nights when her claws come out to tear at patriarchy’s face,
As she faces the broken woman she knows, still struggles to breathe within.
She runs away from everyone.
She runs till her lungs give away.
She curses the rules that imprison.
She…
