LINE OF WOMEN
who tend the bottle and tame their men; meaning they are rarely sober and do not submit. Meaning they’ll crush you with their words and beat you til’ you pulp.
They’re my history. They sit with me, raging during the early morning hours, alerting me to the dangers I have not yet seen. Although, I do not carry their ways, I am still a subject.
They paint me. They mold me. They shape me into a bleeding force and I can summon any of them at a moment’s notice with a breath and a pause.
To be the quiet one in a family full of wailers is an oddity. I make my voice heard, it’s somewhat muffled, but heard, nonetheless. A sea of women. A sea of alcohol-lipped, violent women wade before me. I tread lightly. I never know when there will be high tide.
I am a swimmer. It is a requirement in my family. If you cannot hold your head above water, you are not strong enough to carry the name. Your legs must be bolts. Your arms, thunder. If ever lightning strikes,
Your tongue can cease it in seconds.
This is your skill. You are a born with it. That is, if you are one of MY women.
So, I have had many races and with each of them, the finish line was overrun with heavy, hurting women who ready themselves for war when battles are few.
THEY COLLECT DUES TOO.
Bankruptcy is a foreign concept. You must pay to play along. No money,
And, as I grow into womanhood, carelessly carrying other pieces of me from men too, these women remind me that they are Alpha.
And, if you let them tell it, they’re OMEGA too.
They wear the pants.
No one will argue that.
I have a voice, I do. But, in the calmness of a full room, Invisible is my name.
I am no SIREN.
But, I prove myself worthy in words. I needn’t sound. The page screams loud enough for the deafest of ears and I move away from the tearing, guilty while watching them rip each syllable from a notebook of notables.
LINE OF WOMEN
who tend the bottle and tame their men.