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They pierce before you ask them to

hang gold and silver on tender lobes

And say, ‘Go my sister… you’re not alone ‘


.
They are witches of Salem’s lot

daring to defile silence

while on trial with letters written

in madness of truth,

gutted from all things

and they will be burned at the stake

with a spirit no longer censored

as it rises up from the ash

haunting for ages to come

.

Make love to one, a writing woman

and she will inhibit your body under nails and skin

nothing is hidden under your embrace

your blood will surrender travel to her

and there you are in raw form

as the oxygen chokes your speech

sitting under her words until she speaks

where she has traveled in you

.

They are whores and nuns

having traded paper for their cause

making amends with the past to have this moment

of clarity on bare feet

they are rebels and revolutionists

to march freedom to front lines

.

Beautiful souls are writing women

willing to show you their scars

fearing not your hate or love

as she stands boldly before you with everything

she is

without guilt or evasiveness about what

she does not have or lost

allowing self to be glass

that you may pour from her and know

her authenticity

.

Go my sisters, writing women

you are not alone

defile the silence

that dares to mute

the significance of our lives

and stand beside those

who stumble to speak

their pages

.

© Tammy Mezera 2015

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