I am working on an Album called BOXES and though it is going to be so powerful when it is done, I’ve had to do so much inner work to get to the place where I feel like I can talk about how Systems and The Patriarchy have negatively affected me and so many other women (and men!). I’m going to post a few of the poems and short stories here to give more context to the musical piece.
A letter to a woman from a woman:
Dear Sister,
I’m writing to you because I know you need encouragement. I need it too.
You see, I’ve seen you at the office, working late nights to prove yourself to your male co-workers that you are hard working, smart, & competent. That you deserved the promotion more than the younger, less competent guy they just hired. You stay kind and encouraging, but on the inside you don’t feel enough.
I’ve seen you walking on a normal street as a group of guys calls out to you seeing you merely as a piece of meat, cat calling you.. You’re FULLY CLOTHED, not “asking for it”, yet as your pace quickens theirs quickens too. Your heart races, fear rises up, but you remind yourself to be brave and RUN and you lose them. I know you cried yourself to sleep. They’ll never know how much they scared you. You feel like just an object, no true value to anyone but what your body can give.
I’ve seen you at church, being told you can’t teach men, you can’t lead, you have to stay quiet but they don’t realize all that God has given you. A voice has been placed inside you with so many gifts to give, but they’ll never experience all that you have to bring to the table because they’ve kept you silent. You felt voiceless.
I’ve seen you at school trying to keep up with the boys. You love sports but they won’t let you play because you “run & play like a girl”. They didn’t see you throw up in the bathroom from trying to run yourself to death just to keep up. You felt weak.
***But I assure you sister, You are not weak. You are STRONG. Despite being told no, despite being silenced, despite being suppressed, held down, and seen only as an object, you fight. You persist. You don’t quit just because someone tells you you’re not enough. You are MORE than enough, in fact, you are MORE than they can HANDLE! ..and if they can’t handle the courage, strength and perseverance you bring to the table, you leave the table and make a table for yourself.
Build it from the ground up. Make a beautiful space of inclusion. A place where everyone is welcome and no one is turned away because of their gender, race, social status or age. It sounds like heaven, it echos heaven, reverberating into the hearts of those that will soften and hear it... we are all just flesh, bone and beating hearts. Naked we come into the world and naked we will go. No one carries more value than the other. We are all wondrous works of art to be reveled at.
It’s going to be ok sister. Build the life you were meant to live from the ground up. Be your strong, persevering, persistent self and don’t give weight to anyone else’s voice but the Creators voice that says: YOU ARE WONDERFULLY MADE.
SKYSCRAPER
I want to be a skyscraper
I’m tired of making myself small.
My muscles ache with the tension I feel trying to shrink inside myself.
I desperately want to take up space, make myself big and feel tall,
Be high above all of the perceptions and misconceptions
..Taller than the opinions and the illusions of who I am
I want to be a skyscraper
An architectural wonder
A self-sufficient entity
With layers and floors of movement and life
Constantly changing and evolving
When I look out at the skyline at night and I see those skyscrapers sparkling in the dark,
My thoughts implode, shaking off the daydream, and I am brought back to myself
Reality hits and I am small again.
But I want to be a skyscraper
ONE OF THE BRAVE ONES
I’m tired of being “one of the brave ones”.
My mom always calls me that.
It takes it’s toll on my body in ways I didn’t realize.
I’m sad.
I’m angry.
I’m frustrated.
I’m tired of trying to fit in spaces that don’t accommodate for my voice.
Yet I still do it.
I’m in a room full of men.
Circled around a giant wooden conference table, elders in a system that has long stood.
I notice my heart race as I speak up
My voice shakes and reverberates back to my ears and even I don’t believe what I’m saying.
The patriarchal teaching crosses my mind for a split second and I start to shrink and question myself
But I hold my ground at the wooden conference table.
All I can focus on is the grain.
Don’t look up.
Don’t question yourself because of them.
Old, white, men stare back at me and I can see the look of concern in their eyes, not for me, but for me thinking somehow I could change the system.
Their brains churning with “oh poor dear, it’s been this way since the beginning of time, nothing will change with one woman’s voice.”
They patronize me, they tell me it’s the way it’s always been and I feel deflated again.
Why do I try?
Nothing ever changes.
I have little hope it ever will.
Why do I put myself through this pain over and over again?
My mom calls me one of the brave ones.
I guess that’s why I do it.
Because no one else will.
THE CRACK
It was a rainy day when the crack appeared.
You didn’t notice it at first. It was just a tiny sliver.
You ignored it thinking “if I just pretend it’s not there, it will surely go away!”
The light shone brightly the next day and try as you might to ignore the crack, light poured through it and caught your eye.
“It seems bigger today, no bother! It’s a nice day and it won’t hurt anything. I’ll deal with it later.”
You went out for your weekly grocery run, went about your day and didn’t think about the crack at all.
“See! If I just go about my day and ignore it, it will be fine!”
When you entered the house, groceries in tow, you avoid the spots where you could see the crack and you go about your usual routine.
By nighttime, though, The crack widened significantly. The wind howling through the cavernous expanse that was once a tiny sliver.
The noise raises the alarm bells in your mind. It’s frightening sound warning you to deal with the situation, but you don’t listen to the wise warnings of the wind.
“A bit of fresh air never hurt anyone!”
You avoid the warning and head to bed.
The next morning the crack was wider and the rain was pounding down and filling up your home.
The Chaos of chairs floating and furniture bobbing filled your mind with overwhelming thoughts about the crack.
“I should have patched it up before it got this big! It was only a tiny sliver now I don’t know if I can repair the damage that it has caused.”
You cry softly, knowing full well all of this could be avoided but it was too late.
