Storms

What lies,
In a woman,
A wo-man,
Is she part man? Is she,
The rib for Adam, only molded for,
A function;
Why is it that,
The words that naturally roll off,
Our tongues,
Are the implicit structures,
That keep us bonded,
In a world of words:
“universal mankind”--- I disagree,
There is nothing universal,
About being a man.
I hear the screams of inclusivity,
“him/her”, they say, For that is convention;
Never “her/him”.

You can be the,
Drops of water,
Running off car windows,
After a thunderstorm,

But I am the lightening, the boom,
The crash of clouds battling over the sky,
A fight that never ends,
I am not divided into two parts,
With the illusion of antagonism,
For can’t I be both kind and bold,
Quiet and brave,
A woman,
And a warrior?

Society answers with a mocking silence,
The silence before storms,
Pressed heavily on the pages of the wind,
That whoosh onward.