These women, they make me
with their loud hearts, grit and hope
of flaming volcanoes inside their bellies

these women, they make me
stand erect with their spines backed
against me when,
mine feels punctured and
can’t recall if i came with one

these women, they make me
remember: ‘no amount of wishbones can
ever replace a backbone’, sweet baby

these women, they make me
with their raw, bold breathing truths
and lives wrapped in wisdom,
scars dipped in blood ink

these women, they make me
with skin and flesh, encasing stories that
could shatter hearts, yet they
reverberate grace and
mouth softness

these women, they make me
with a love: unconditional, pure
as if we live under the same roof or
as if i was held, birthed
in their loins

these women, they make me
in their exuberant hues, voracious hair
and untamed legs rooted in the earth
but effortlessly ploughing to their
soul’s drumbeat and wild calls

these women, they make me
with beauty that’s a warrior alchemy
of kindness, vulnerability
crowned with
minds that can blunt the sharpest swords

these women, they make me
refute and disband, society’s stifled vision
the raging rivers coursing me must
conform to; we shan’t

these women, they make me
embrace the live-wire woman
and the little girl in me, pleading
i always make joy, her oxygen:
keep her alive and nourished
no matter what, let her survive

these women, they make me
along side them, i was built into
a sacred empire of womankind:
poems, tears, heartbreak, rising,
healing and starting again;
cleansing, repeating
as much and as often as i need to

these women,
without them
i do not get to
be me

these women, they made me.

~

Author: Neelam Tewar

Editor: Caitlin Oriel

Images: Galilla S/Flickr