We were not meant to be divided.

I have my words,

And you have yours.

My words yearn for connection and possibilities.

I have my words,

naive ones,

that won’t launch into attack before inquiry.

You have your words

of gossip

that shock like lightning  

in a dark night.

But that is just a moment,

as the gossip

precedes the truth.

Like the darkness

precedes the light.

In the morning,

I’ll have my words

that warm again

the long hours of the day.

But who notices a thousand words of kindness,

when you throw your words

of gossip

that sharpen and shatter?

Your words have the power to end and kill.

My words have the power to create new beginnings.

After chaos,

it’s a new day

and I’m feeling good.

I have my words,

to speak

And you have yours,

to insinuate.

Why are your weapons at my throat

when you’re angry at the world

for not delivering what

You should have done for yourself?

Your words of deep and hurtful anger,

your sidelong glances,

your art of insolence.

Delete or be deleted.

What perception of me causes you so much pain?

Your flared nostrils, the twitch of your lips

You sit and stare

then drop down your gaze,

silently judging me,

how I speak,

how I look,

how I think.

Whispering your displeasure in the keen ear

next to your big mouth.

You wish I would go away.

I don’t know what I’ve done.

What infuriates you so

with anger?

I tried to stay isolated,

to not talk,

But even when I tried

to stay silent and mute,

to protect myself.

I still suffered.

You still wished your words would make me go away.

“Don’t be so sensitive. What’s wrong with you anyway?”

I laughed too, at that joke. Too loud.

I was just glad for the absence of harshness.

But when I don’t use my words,

for fear

of making things worse,

My silence is not noble.

This

is how this survives:

In silence, and isolation,

in mistrust, and fury

Why do you go around gossiping all the time?

How would you get more value by devaluing me?

“Just who does she think she is anyway?”

“You think you’re better than anybody else?”

How are you judging me?

Now I found my words

to name

my once unexpressed fear

of your words of judgement.

If I am myself, then you cannot accept me.

Am I too tall?

As tall as you?

Not tall enough?

Whichever,

I still am going to be lacking in some way.

But I am who I am

Doing what I came to do,

Get out of my face.

Mine is the face of your fears

The reluctance to connect

We speak different words, different languages,

The harsh, cruel words ensure

we maintain the distance between us

We are easier to control when split and fragmented.

You have your words

that reveal to me

the patriarchy

you were inoculated with,

since the beginning of your life.

Their words told you,

“You are worse,

could be better,

but will not be equal

to men.”

“There is little room for girls

In a man’s world.”

Words you heard until they became your own.

The legacy

of entrenched hate

and contempt

for whatever is female.

Now you are patriarchy’s own warrior

Your anger is used to feather it’s arrows

like a precision striker

against me

who is closest.

I have my words

and they are painful to write down

Sister,

you taught me what patriarchy is

through the bruises you gave me.

And I cursed myself

for being too young

for the old history of our bent world.

But I remind myself

That as I live through it,

I still survive.