I come from a line of women who will chastise you after their husbands molestation. Women who despise their beauty reflected. Women who hate what your development insinuates. Women who shame you into hiding within yourself. Women who wish for you to become unseen. Women who lie on your name and cheer but those same women, cowards,much too old to hide behind screens. A line of women forgetting they often weren’t given a panty that was clean.
I come from a line of women, mother’s, grandmother’s, aunt’s, sisters and cousins.
A line of women raised to always reach for the hands of men, caressing those very hands until the end. A line of women whose hand you couldn’t hold, a line of women who snuffed in you what they deem bold. A line of women with beauty that didn’t fade but rot with hate from the life they never made. A line of women who saw your chapped lips blue with cold, didn’t offer you warmth, hearts frozen yet gracefully growing old.
This woman, a wolf, killing a line of children they would never own, opting forever to roam alone.
The Unnerved Traveler