A woman’s body, soft yet strong,
A sacred vessel, nature’s song.
Shaped by time, by love’s design,
A wonder fierce, a form divine.
Her curves like rivers gently flow,
Her heart a flame with tender glow.
Each month she bears a crimson tide,
A cycle fierce, where strength resides.
Within her womb, a spark takes flight,
A miracle woven in the night.
She carries life, she cradles dreams,
Her love a glow in radiant beams.
Her breasts, a fount of warmth and care,
Nourish life with grace so rare.
A mother’s touch, both firm and kind,
A bond no force could e’er unbind.
As years turn silver, wise, and still,
Her body shifts, as seasons will.
Menopause weaves its quiet art,
Yet fire burns within her heart.
But oh, the world can wound and scar,
With staring eyes that roam too far.
Some shame her form, some steal her peace,
Through word or hand, their cruelties cease.
Frotage, rape, and whispered shame—
Yet still she rises, fierce, untamed.
Through pain and wrong, she stands upright,
Her spirit fierce, her soul alight.
Each mark, each line, a story told,
Of strength and grace that won’t grow old.
O praise her body, every part—
The silent scars, the beating heart.
Not for the gaze that seeks to bind,
But for the fire that lives inside.
O woman, bold, and gentle too,
The world is blessed because of you.
Your body—sacred, fierce, and warm—
A sunrise after every storm.
No comments:
Post a Comment