You are not a girl anymore

Girl you are not a girl anymore

you are a woman

woman you are reviled and judged

for being a woman

when you were a girl it was suffice to

have a nice pair of legs and a pretty mouth

do you recall how often you were asked to ‘cheer up and smile love’

when all you were doing was trying to grow-up and be serious?

how men would do your bidding because of your WonderBra and not the sense of your words

now you are a woman

you will inherit



and not be able to find clothes that feel right in stores not meant for your body

because nothing is going to come easy anymore and still

as you sit there in your curves and your burgeoning skin

feeling the surround of yourself lapping at the corners

you will inherit also

the voice of your round bellied ancestors

who have come ringing through time and again

been judged, poked, prodded or worse, flat out ignored

seen how silver haired men get all the fuss like carefully licked jewels

whilst a woman of substance is

lost lost lost

behind the mad din and snuff of youth

for youth it seems needs a distinguished father of any age

but does not require

a mother

a grandmother

a female sage

for women are judged upon their reproductive abilities and

the years they have lived beneath the moon listening to the shore

if too few, they are deemed unintelligent

too many and nobody wants to hear

for women are judged upon

scales created long before

an even playing field was won

if it has, if it has yet

for women it is easier to become lost after the lights have grown less hot

held to a higher standard than the eternal covet of men

who are picked up and dusted off by many worshipful female hands

too eager to say ‘there, there, I will help you, poor thing’

who shall help then, the woman?

Not her own kind, surely, nor men who adore only youngest vintage

Who shall see her? When she is grown and perhaps does not accept her allotted place

or wish to remain invisible or grow old with pressurized grace

who shall listen when she wants to be heard at any age?

or the desires of her are beyond the sanctioned pail

or her damp passion which does not flip and flop and require Viagra

a woman if she is loved

is ten-fold her maiden self

for the wefts and the welts are earned and learned and now they represent

a splendid coat of multicolor

she wears with pride and sometimes regret

but more often silver wisdom and the softening yet

of her edges into rounded corners and eventually

a supple circle come full

the world may dominate her discourse

the youth may clamor for their right to change the channel

she may slip quietly through the bridled noise

with strong thick womanly thighs

and as men chase their tail and young women cast a gaze that seems to say

who the HELL do you think you are, old lady?

woman, you do not bat your eyes or rise to those absurdities left behind

for she is the wake of day and dusted sleep of night

cradling the future in her all-mighty grip

she learns from being kicked

to stand she must let go of the girl within and be

a woman of our time

casting her pearly net wide as she

swallows the sea and sighs

letting the tide tumble out with her exhaled breath

aaahhh yes

aaahhh yes


27 thoughts on “You are not a girl anymore

  1. Reblogged this on Dances with Tricksters and commented:
    The lesson of the Crone, of wild magic and rich rebellion after youth has fled and we come into the powers of Baba Yaga and Hecate.

  2. I’m glad you selected this image again. It’s a beautiful and powerful piece of art. It accompanies your words very well.

  3. This speaks to me of the lessons of the Crone, of that sage third stage of womanhood when we come into the Matriarch, HIgh Priestess role and our magic is ripe and wild. Lovely poem and very powerful read!

  4. Some 25 years ago I spent an evening at a Crossword Setters’ Dinner with a beautiful, elegant, woman who had once been photographed by a famous photographer. “It’s all right for you, you are in your prime. I am past it,” she said at one point. She was my contemporary and became a friend. Reluctant as I was, I understood what she meant. Your excellent poem brings back that moment

  5. ’tis a strange thing, how we each experience the coming of the Crone each in our own ways. This makes me ponder my journey.

  6. This piece was shared on Go Dogs Go Cafe. I am mesmerized. It spoke to me on more levels than I can count. I will follow you knowing there is more to come. Thank you for writing.

  7. SMiLes the feathered sleep Candice long date
    no write with visit but wHere i go i always
    leave somEthing
    at lEast
    for i remember
    the days of few to no
    Emotions for i remember
    come to find out Emotions
    are A source for even the Voice
    we give to others for i remember 47
    and my Great Aunt at 94 ever able to
    talk for hours while i could not muster even
    a smile
    that felt
    like a smile
    and a laugh forgotten
    as a feeling too.. and yes
    i remember waiting to get my Hair
    Cut and the Eighty Something Year
    old Woman Kicking Her Legs up in the
    Air smiling in glee about all her GrandChildren’s
    Accomplishments for what they all had that i lacked
    then for even the strength for a paragraph of speak and
    even though that weak feeling of Loveless Fear in my Legs
    that could still press 500LBS for what i was Lacking is the Spirit of
    my Great Aunt yes the
    Spirit of Love within
    Smiling ear to
    ear through walker
    slow step by slow step
    Broken back twice stooped
    sTill Brilliant FLoWeR within of LoVE..
    It’s True my FriEnd FLoWeRS wilt outside
    but to Sing a Cliche Steel Magnolias Root in Love Forever now..
    And as far as Young Women on the Dance Floor i never sing Poetry
    to them.. but it’s true my friEnd it’s not always the Old man who is the aggressor
    as they say different strokes for different folks for a smile is enough for me for i understand
    what it is
    like to
    all that
    counts in life..
    but as any wilting
    Flower i am still Flattered
    but for every GroWinG ever more
    SouL that my friEnd is the Secret of Regeneration always now..
    And the Reality of Every Grandmother and Beyond Loving aLWays now..
    Beneath Petals
    Little Boys who are Loved
    as Children by Mothers
    And alloWed to
    Love by
    Fathers SMiLeS
    Grow up to be Loving Mothers
    As Fathers too with or without
    Children at lEast in Theory my FriEnd..
    My Great Aunt said what is the Root of the
    Problem Self Evident then 66 Months Later LoVEFRiEnD ReNeWeD..:)

  8. I often (usually) feel invisible now with my gray hair and wrinkles when (as you say) I once never was. But sister, there is movement now…we are taking it back! Our freedom, our space, our lives, our bodies, our voices and our visibility. I don’t care if some man doesn’t want to see me, because I know I am here: strong, beautiful and wise and SEEN. And so are many beautiful women who say: ME TOO!!

  9. Interesting and poignant. The pain and bitterness is palpable, gushing from this piece.

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