Linda m. crate
Two poems
some of us tire of your games
you confuse woman for weakness,
and submission and desire;
you confuse her for a moral compass
and the one to meet all your needs—
some may be content in being controlled,
but i will never be ruled or tamed or owned;
women aren't here for your entertainment—
i have dreams and goals and ambitions all my own
don't need anyone to satisfy me but me
because i know what i want from life,
and my dreams won't wake up one day and decide
they don't love me;
my dreams won't abandon me for another woman
or tell me lies just to make me stay—
women are goddesses, queens, and magic;
you underestimate our power and overestimate
our kindness but not all of us are sugar and spice
and everything nice
some of us are wrath and rage and magic that
will write you off the page—
some of us tire of your games.
i am the main character of my life
i was born
at night
darkness does
not scare me
the moon is
my mother,
always i shine
even when you
cannot see me;
i am whole
even when i am
incomplete and i am no
longer afraid of who
i am—
my magic and my power
are my own
wasn't born to be your moral
compass or your entertainment,
and i won't sit in your shadow
to be your arm candy
disappointed to be in the darkness
of a stranger when i could be standing
in my own light;
because i am my own story
and i will write myself as the main character
spent enough time as a side character
in my narrative.
25 January, 2021