Phenomena

i.

She bit at the galaxies

on her fingertips,

broke her teeth on 

black holes,

scribbled in comets

for her signature,

leaving ice on the dots

ii.

I was the blank page

traced by doubt,

the ink fallen from 

the fickle pen,

the crumpled paper

on the corner

of the desk-- 

nothing you haven't

had before,

but certainly something

worth having

iii.

The brush of nightfall

against her cheeks

may bloom volcanoes

in your heart

but only if she,

who is made of the earth

and the stars as you are,

leads you to lava

iv.

I wait with the tide

and it beckons me,

not only to lay a course

but to sail on my own waves

v.

She will crush meteors

between her fingers,

leave me in awe,

but she and I share 

one speck of dust- 

we exist together here,

not as polarities

but as phenomena

Author's Note

This to me represents a few aspects of feminism- that we shouldn't pit girls against each other, but embrace them all. We are mortal phenomena, not special in terms of our humanity, but equal to all others on this planet, while still maintaining our unique individual traits; that we reserve the right to refuse and not be shamed or killed for it; and that we can be independent if we choose to be. Some prefer traditional roles, some do not. Either way, both can be feminists, and both should be accepted as such.

(Originally posted on Allpoetry on 1/10/15.)