women

Stream of consciousness writing:

What makes the timbre of our voices?
Does the amount of grief or joy experienced over a lifetime tighten or expand the vocal cords, restricting flow or adding a lilt?
The women with breathy little girl voices automatically remind me of men who have taken advantage.
The frozen floor of the dark basement below the stone house. A cold hand like a fish, squirming its way down to me and the clutch of fear that crept into my throat.
I admire the bravery of that girl who invented an excuse and got away. Not all are so lucky.
Predators lurk like sharks, deceive like satyrs and steal the warm, deep, sure voices of our women.
These women stuck in the amber moment of girlhood, suspended as if in a chrysalis...frightened to emerge.
Don't show your wings or attract too much attention. This is dangerous.
This creates suspicion, edginess, the uneven jitters beneath the well manicured casing.
This turns women against women and loosens the ties of cloth and blood and sisterhood.
Women must love each other.
Forget the competition, jealousy, and comparison and embrace the curves, the skinny knees, the cycles of dying and renewing.
We change like the moon and hold our men close to us, muffling the quiet fears of betrayal or violence...whether we've directly been touched by it or not.
Melt these icy walls, lose the hardness, and start trusting again.
The health of our world, men, sisters, and children depends on our soft, strong, resilient knowing.
We are beautiful.