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Eyes dry, I look out at THEM. They crawl in the dirt with a trail of tears shedding like a
long haired dog's coat in the summer time.
Anger build up inside of me as I watch THEM.
THEY are the women children of this world. 

Searching.
Begging.
Longing.
They want to be loved.

No. These poor creatures do not know what love is. They know of pain. 
They know of rising waves and riptides of anger and desperation,
but not love.

To find this treasure that they have heard about their entire life they change.
Change like the leaves on a tree. With every man that comes their way the colors change.

Green.
Orange.
Yellow.
Red.
Brown.
Bare. 

I hate the sight of them. They sicken me. Why?
Once upon a time I was one of THEM.
Once upon a time I was lost too.
That person is dead now.
Now I have the skin of an Indian woman, but my heart remains soft.

Looking for happiness, these women children turn to him, 
the one that brings nothing but pain. Their Frogs they try so hard to keep on their lily
pads. He swims off to the next one when he wants to get his feet wet.

Yes. My skin has grown tough, but my heart remains soft. He will not take that from me.
I stand strong and proud. May the fierceness in my soul boil over and illuminate the
passion that is me! I hold my head high and walk out of my house knowing.

I have that. I know that everything I have been through. 
Every trial.
Every lie.
Every mistake.
Every tear.
Every scar.
Every rumor.
Every hurtful thing.
Every careless word. 
Every scream.
Every man...
 
has made me what I am today.


May the light shine on my face as these tear tracked cheeks raise with smile. May the
strength within me help the others around me. For I know what I am.
I AM A WOMAN. Proud and Free.

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