Becoming Woman
A poem
I was born a living idol
worshipped by the lustful gaze of men
who ached to feel the folds of skin
that hung tight on my chest
folds that I nurtured from hurtful lumps
For their devotion,
I fed them from my chest
One they devoured with satisfaction,
and now repulsed,
for they sagged,
from the desire to be worshipped again
I was born,
with a deep wound between my legs
that I prayed to bleed from as a child,
for it was the beauty of a woman,
as I was told,
beauty I realized,
came in torrents of impure blood
flowing down my thighs,
like the tears flowing down my face,
from the pains of a wound that would never heal
I was born,
as I was told,
to find my rebirth,
in a child,
that had eyes like her father’s,
a nose like her grandfather’s,
brows like her dead uncle’s,
but like me,
had sweet misfortunes,
that hung in her long, black hair.
