I think to how often I shrink myself, to fit Me in a box. A box that barely fits my breasts and shoots out a nail as I authentically express. There is no single container in which I fit.

This river cannot be damned for you to take or leave as you please. I am an endless course of fluid complexion. Feeling from knowing and seeking connection.

You paint me in labels, as I reawaken the cells of my ancestors, to tell their tales with no truths forsaken. You’d like me to whisper, to simply disappear, but without me my darling you would not be here.

The woman is sacred, the bridge of earth - divine. Weaving each soul into the patchwork of life. She isn’t a lovely harmonious sing, she’s a deep bellied rumble bringing life into being.

So pop that lid on your container so small, you try get in, fit your parts and all.