womanhood

a work in progress

Category: Woman To Woman (Page 1 of 27)

Power

Yesterday you spoke.

And spoke. 

And spoke. 

I wanted you to get it all out. 

Out of your system. 

The words, the pain, the hurt. 

Everything. 

Out. 

So that your insides were anew. 

But I couldn’t help but notice. 

Those strings of words. 

All too familiar. 

Because there was a time. 

When they came from my lips. 

He said I shouldn’t. 

They thought it was best I don’t. 

It’s not in my control. 

He bought the tickets so I had to go. 

I told him we shouldn’t, but he said we should. 

All those words. 

Tell me. 

You gave your power to him. 

Nestled it in his lap. 

And then asked me. 

What can I do? 

 

X

K

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With child.

NOTE: I wrote this a good 7 months ago and I don’t feel the same way. I wasn’t going to post it, because it just felt bad to say that I ever felt that way. But I think part of this whole thing, is being ok with feels. And I realise, it’s totally ok. Xx K

//

So you are with child. 

And I love you darlingly so. 

My heart beats for you. 

You are my blood. 

My love. 

My mother. 

My sister. 

My friend. 

My world. 

And I know. 

That this sinking feeling inside me. 

I want to quash. 

This fear. 

You but not me. 

I’m not there yet. 

Not with child. 

Yet. 

I feel. 

The why. 

And I want to quash it. 

But instead. 

I let myself. 

Feel it. 

Feel the sorrow. 

The simple one of not getting what you want. 

The feeling of someone else getting what you want. 

I let it wash over me. 

And I know. 

It will be ok. 

X

K

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The Ultrasound

I just want to check your left ovary.
She says to me.
Her stick pushes and darts and my discomfort stays alight.

Her screen says so much to her. Blood here. Vessels there.
To me it says.
Empty.

I knew it yesterday.
I’ve know it for days.

This is a far cry from the sex I know.
I’m not allowed to have it for 6 weeks.
But that stick is akin to a sarcastic joke made to burn.

She keeps going.
Left right, in, out. Centre. Back.
I understand.
She’s doing her job.
Getting all the information.

Getting it down to 15 slides.
That I have miscarried.

That there is no life in my womb.
Just a teaspoon of blood.

I know this.
And yet.
I’m here.

Wondering why I’m letting her do her job.
So thoroughly.
When I need.
Out.

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The Miscarriage

You left me yesterday sweetheart.
Or maybe you left me before.
But today, I woke up, and you weren’t in me anymore.
I could feel it.

Unusually light.
The lightness.

It was a dark day.
I don’t even know.
How I feel about it all.

The thing is.
I didn’t know you.
We chatted, but rarely.
But my box was ticked.
Two kids.
Done.

How presumptuous.
And now I wonder.
Was it the future I’ve lost that I’m sad about?
Your Daddy was the first to think of your soul.
Of your journey.
Not his attached to yours.
Purely yours.
He’s always been the selfless type.

Me?
Tears in the night.
Blood neatly contained.
Bed to bathroom to toilet to bed.

No need for reasons.
It’s just as it was always meant to be.
Except we didn’t know.
What was meant to be.

X
K

//

PS – If you’re my friend and you want to message me – please kindly, don’t send me a whatsapp or an email or a DM. To be honest, I find this kind of a conversation can only really happen in person and I’m sure the next time we catch up, you can flood me with your hugs. Just not the emoticon version. With so much love. Xx

 

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Solace

There you were
Seeking all the right words
From all the wrong people

There is no solace.
In anyone.
Outside of you.

It is.
In you.

Grief.
And only for you to.
Heal.

Issues

We have issues with what other people do.
Because that makes us uncomfortable in our own skin.
We wonder, “why am I not like that?”.

//

She buys designer clothes. OMG it costs like $1000 bucks a pop. Why would she spend her money on that?

She’s such a workaholic, I would never want to be home after 8pm.

She wears such full on colour. I find it a bit brash. Like why?

She is so skinny. She probably eats nothing.

And it goes on.

//

If we felt secure in ourselves, we wouldn’t give a shit about being different to others. The conversation would be non-existent. Because who cares?!

And that. Is why we seek to convert people. To become more like ourselves. Basically because it makes us feel more secure about ourselves.

Because we’re insecure in the first place…

X
K

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Metrics

It makes me sad to know.
Your silence tells me.
You are only interested in the tick boxes.

Who is she dating?
How much is she making?
Are they for good, or just a fly by?
Is she still as slim?

And I feel sick.
To my stomach.

Knowing.
You are this person.

Who recognises people on the basis of this twisted metric.

Money. Sex. Looks.

 

Ugh.

X
K

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Intent

The intentions.
What we started with.
Flow through.

And when we stop being true to who we are, what we really wanted, how we wanted things to go down, it shows.

In the work.
In the gravity of what we do.
In the lives we live.

It shows.

Show up.
For yourself.

Because the outcome,
Will always be better than all the bullshit compromise, the comparing, the adjusting, the navigating, all the crap, you’ve bowed down to.

Show me.
You.

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Keys Out

Somedays.
I wish.
The thoughts in my head.
Would just hit a dead end.
Switch into park.
And stop.

Engines off.

X
K

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My boys

Line up.
Line em up.

Girls all with their pretty peacock feathers.
How pretty can I look?
More than this?
Can I obliterate every fucking imperfection from myself?

So I’m good enough?

Bags under eyes.
Curves at hips.
Restless hair.
Thunder thighs that roar.

And not just that.

No seriously.
Not just that.

How can I ADEQUATELY meet your needs?
Want me to wear heels?
Don’t like my earrings?
Should I change?
For you?

Am I good enough.

We ask ourselves again and again and again.

In everything we do.

With every strand of hair kept in place.
Every diamond earring that says, “I’m So Appropriate For This”.
Every fake smile.
Every chunni pinned to perfection and every tummy sucked in with Spanx so we can breathe a little less and feel like the boys will love us now that they can’t see our tummies.

We think that is what it takes.
To meet the quota.

A room full of girls.
Who never made daddy proud.
Who never made mummy proud.
Who never made the bloody aunties proud.
Enough.

When are we going to change this?
When are you going to wake up?

This one is on us.

Wear what you want.

Walk how you want.

Love who you are.

And bloody hell, have that tequila if you want.

Be a bad girl.

Be a good girl.

Be a naughty girl.

Be a sassy one.

Be the one that makes too much money.

Or be the one who spends a lot of money.

Who cares.

Just be you sweetheart.

Just be you.

 

Xx

K

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