Women Who Weep
A poem written during Trump’s reign
Protected by whitewashed windows, I sit inside with my skin blanketed in warmth.
Yes, it is comfortable,
but not exciting.
I sit by my desk and look outside at the world I am closed off from.
The women are crying today.
Weeping for their sisters locked inside boxes and prisons.
They weep for the women locked inside relationships that do nothing to fill their own cups.
They weep for women locked inside themselves, awaiting another person to find the key.
They weep for the women held back for the color of their skin and the growing between their legs.
They weep and their tears soak the plants, bringing them life.
Yet their tears were not meant for the sunflowers and daisies,
They already have their sun.
They already have their rain, their bees, and butterflies.
Their tears were meant to bring life to the women who sit by the window,
looking out at the life they could be living.
It’s raining outside my window,
And as I notice each tear splash onto the soil,
I am no longer comforted.
I am awakened.
-ARTEMIS INKS
