A Hymn to the Women in My Life

These are the women in my life.
Strength in their blood and muscle
Grit in their eye
Strong, oh my sweet Amazons, so strong.
I bow humble before thee.

My grandmothers' hands are my own.
They sent their husbands and children to war.
Washed laundry and chapped their hands.
I could still feel the echo of those days
Many years later when they cradled my hands in theirs.
STRONG hands.
My mother's hands are my own but hers raised five children, thirteen grandchildren, two great grandchildren.
STRONG hands.
My sisters hands are my own.
They raised me too, carefully, fretfully, foolishly.
They raised their children. They raised each other.
STRONG hands.
My friends hands aren't mine, but oh! Do you see?
The beauty the grace the strength.
26 years, ten years, six months.
You too raise me. Raise me up, hold my hands, wipe my eyes, hug me close.
STRONG hands.

My family all of you, my sweet Amazons.
You are all stronger than you give yourself credit for.
So'm I.
I am learning the bounds of my skin,
Finding the strength in my hands,
Singing my own praises.

This is a hymn to all the Women in my life
Including me.

Yes, I wrote these. They are my personal property, enjoy them but do not use them elsewhere. Thank you.

The dichotomy of my personality
is that I am two women - solemn and fun loving,
introverted,extroverted,shy and assertive.
The girl who flashed them at Mardi Gras
seeks to hide behind the mask.

The dichotomy of my personality
is that I am two women - if you seek one
you may be surprised to find both
in your grasp.

Can you handle them both? One is cold and one is fire...
but from what I've tasted of desire (thank you, Mr. Frost)
I am both the soothing rain and the storming tempest.
I am the blazing sun and the thawing warmth.

The dichotomy of my personality
is that I am two women - do you dare?
or do you beware?

Here, maybe this will explain a little more where I'm coming from. And yes, I did write it. Enjoy it but do not reproduce elsewhere without permission. Thank you.


So you want to treat me kind, where kindness has no place 
Whisper your desire and caress my pretty face…. 

Well mine’s the skin that bleeds, and mine’s the heart that races
And if you would teach me, then put me through my paces
A masochistic joy isn’t quite the normal dream
The images when I close my eyes are nightmares to the redeemed.

So you want to treat me kind, where kindness has no place
Whisper your desire and caress my pretty face…

Any torture you might offer to unleash my painful delight
through night and day and once again into each wicked night
and as I hang there for you, broken and beaten on your cross
through bloodied lips I’ll gladly rejoice in whatever the cost. 

So you want to treat me kind, where kindness has no place
Whisper your desire, and caress my pretty face…

There is no higher respect to pay then to call you sadist, Sir
No other sound I want to hear than you saying “Now. Come here.”
Because as I crawl across the floor and shiver at your feet
I’ll know deep in my soul that this makes me complete.

So you want to treat me kind, where kindness has no place
Whisper your desire, and caress my pretty face...

And I know it isn’t all pain, that kindness does have its place
Compliments on my beauty and admiration of my grace
And I’ll like the conversation and enjoy the sweet caress
But the man who leaves me aching is the one that knows me best.

In a burst of fire
and elemental flame
the phoenix rose from the ashes 
wore my face, answered to my name.

God’s beautiful and fearful child
heavenly divinely inspired 
singing songs I never knew until now
I am I am I am loved.
 

Isn’t it funny that being owned sets you free?
Isn’t it funny that you already taught me
loving myself was as easy as breathing…