Reality's realization

As my hands thumb wrestle for the sky,

I stretch my arms to wrap around my ideas,

And I have to say, I have battled with being a woman, 

Striving to have the world seize the beauty from both outside and within me, 

            Maybeline, Covergirl, and Loreal,

all being misinterpretations of what makes a woman,

yet it’s a society addiction to cover the girl that’s really underneath

with all the make up lies...lines you don’t define me,

I’m always at everyone else’s request to be more “womanly”,

the interpretation may vary,

but for me,

they’re always asking for Halle Berry’s face,

Lauren London’s curves, Janet Jackson abs,

J. Lo’s ass, and whoever they can create for everything else in-between,

thinking that we all can be cookie cutter duplicates tumbling out of the heavens,

but I am pregnant with more potential then your mind can withhold…so don’t compare,

I’m constantly running on life’s treadmills,

so daily I work to be loveable even when I’m cramping inside monthly,

raging like a tornado, because I never want any variation of the word “bitch”

to come through anyone’s mouth…so I always put my game face on,

And I know that a man does enjoy an independent woman,

no autopilot, the ability to make him melt in his tracks,

have him happy to admit that I am his home,

but only and as long as our stilettos are not walking across their toes

or stepping on their back bones

because they’re mothers cuddled them… far too long,

it’s the same with wanting

but never knowing how or who to give the green light to

shred the dead layers of facades hanging off me that I put up

only for protection,

because I have a track list of betrayals,

shattered hearts,

and once upon a time moments buried…somewhere

Recently, life had started making me believe that surviving

IT

was only a privilege, 

That it’s only natural that I’m beautifully broken

from being dropped from people’s lives one too many damn times,

that it’s common for many woman like myself,

who don’t like to share themselves

because we’re always returned out-of-order,

that we all eventually start to sling love songs out the front door,

hate beauty, especially our very own,

and soon enough,

stop believing in men…emotional middle finger follows,

But we all have moments that we’re blind,

cuffed to empty promises, clawing at empty dreams,

holding a share of our jar of hearts,

cross referencing past pictures to current scars

that is traceable on our shoulders and back for carrying them…far too long,

I’m tired of playing dress up in this city of broken syllables,

mixing and matching,

being told “Mr. Right” “The One” “Prince Charming” will come

and sweep me off my feet,

but waiting for one man to come “get” you is frustrating,

and I’m not striving for average,

so instead of calling onto Jesus to answer my prayer,

I leave it all up to fate,

Wake up to the smell of starts,

take bites out of inspiration,

shoot up accomplishments,

make out with liberation’s lips,

no limits, endless possibilities is my pulse as I readjust my eyesight,

Remove knife from my back to cut ties,

Form my purpose in life into mallets and beat it into the world

And for the first time breathe, like the first breath after a coma,

Because the bad habit of throwing myself down the stairs don’t suit me,

I may be far from perfect… but I know I’m perfect enough

Stay blessed-Much Love

Miss Ember