To me women are like: plants
Buried deep within the darkness
Instead of withering and wilting
Women push through the ceilings, fighting being buried alive, clawing their way out of the detritus
Unfolding beneath the spotlight
They grow in unlikely places, stretching and writhing, and taking up space
Spreading their roots like the starlight silver of stretch marks weaving a constellation
Across a body that has matured and weathered the strongest of storms
Some bear fruit, giving life through the pain of their bodies
Still others spread blossoms for the world to admire
But winter comes, and frost wilts the leaves like so many heartbreaks
But sleet and snow hold only so much power to those who are willing to love again
For hearts thaw like spring mornings, turning ice to nourishing liquid
They bloom again
and again
and again.
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