When We Erupt, We Heal The World

I was a frightened little girl in a woman’s body.


And then I erupted:

I was a volcano that vomited blood red Lava. It burned my throat and blackened my face.

I cracked:

I was a tree split by lightening.

I destroyed:

I was a tornado spinning out of control.

I exploded:

I was bomb that violently shattered the earth.

I collapsed:

I succumbed to it all so that I could live.

I am serene.

I am exhausted.

I am free.

I am strong.

I am a pillar.

I am a woman, no longer a girl.

My storm is over. But another begins.

I close my eyes. I remember!

I shut my mouth. I can hear!

I am silent as millions roar with conviction.

I am enraged yet, I have nothing left to speak;

I have spoken my truths.

So, I listen.

We are suffering.

I watch.

We are falling apart.

I understand.

We are crying out in pain. 


I am resigned to the dichotomous truth:

We are pillars but endlessly:






And we stand together.

We kneel at her feet and look to her strength and shout:

“More! More!!! More!!!! Speak your truth!!!!!!! We need it to live!!!”

We will never disappear.

For when one purges her Truth, we clean up the vomit of her past, and use it to paint a portrait of our solidarity.

When we erupt, we heal the world.

Our Truths make the Earth’s roots; the tears we shed feed the soil of New Beginnings.



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