One morning a few weeks ago everything I read felt like an assault to me... There were thoughtless, strident voices shouting narrow-minded opinions, condemning dissenting voices, and venting outrage. Women had forgotten their place. Black people were claiming their lives mattered. Impoverished people thinking they should have a way out of poverty. People claiming this planet was more than a resource to be plundered. It felt like the “isms” were winning by their sheer volume, and I felt my optimism and compassion faltering. So, I let the words spill out... Damn the Proof by Tracie Nichols i'm not a shouter or a marcher more gentle anarchist motherly revolutionary despite my steadfastness there are days I think the "-isms" are winning days I wake up to find someone has filled my pericardium with molten lead and encased all but my eyes in concrete "the better to feel helples...
Women's Spiritual Poetry