To every woman (biological/identifies as) – I dedicate this poem to you. Keeping being loud, assertive and 100% amazing. Remember – you’re a fierce queen, born to rule your little world. Don’t let anyone take your crown away. Ever.Continue reading“The Warrior Song.”
Shh..shh..don’t cry, baby girl. I’m here, darling. I’m right here.
I stop bawling and blink at your face. The world is blurry; the air leaching any semblance of warmth from my body . A thousand sounds ring, clank and beep around me. I smell you and burrow into your chest. You are familiar. You are my home.
I spotted my first grey hair when I was 20. I was a standard Year 2 medical student; exhausted, overworked, surviving on strong coffee and the goodwill of nurses. Over the next few months, that one sneaky grey strand became two. Then five.
She walked down the road, acutely aware that the men were following her. The black dress billowed in the night air, as she stepped nimbly over the cracks in the sidewalk. 10 feet behind, the men kept a steady pace, reeking of fried onions and cheap liquor.
Ugh! Alcohol. In her line of work, she’d seen more than a fair share of drunks and losers, who didn’t think twice before getting behind the wheel or punching a woman. Grimacing, she pulled her cloak closer.
Dear Priyanka Reddy (and countless others like you),
When I was a little girl, I saw the world in black and white. Good vs. Bad, Rich vs. poor. Hungry vs. Sated. I loved dotting my ‘i’s and crossing my ‘t’s and I got much comfort from knowing that evil never lingers once it’s been purged out by the shiny hero in his best suit.