Thursday, August 26, 2010


 “Women have sat indoors all these millions of years, so that by this time, the very walls are permeated by their creative force, which has, indeed so overcharged the capacity of bricks and mortar that it must needs harness itself to pens and brushes
and business and politics.”

The young, silent girl sat in her yellow walled bedroom.  The ruffled valance coordinating with the dust ruffle and matching pillow shams, so beautifully dainty is her appearance.  An onlooker would assume the smile on her face would reflect a perfect middle-class life where struggles and angst are a million thoughts away.
As she gazes out her window to the immediate front yard, neighborhood kids ride their bikes, and tree trimmers creating a more manicured perfection, her thoughts are far from this shallow world.
She meditates on her inner voice.  Her voice that speaks loudly with passion and conviction, the words of reality, what is and can be.  She no longer is tricked by her beautiful cage representing America’s middle-class family.
Her world is a lie. 
What penetrates the walls? Truth penetrates all walls.
The truth is she has fought for safety since she can remember. 
As she now sits on her bed, the truth is she is on her third dad, has already been molested by at least two different men, held down and forced to watch pornography and has hidden under a mattress in a crack house to protect her own life.
She is unimpressed with the American dream and the men who proclaim it.
Her heart and experiences create a resiliency that can only be found through surviving. 
Each breath that she takes she dreams.  She dreams of shattering her world and reconciling her experiences.  She dreams of forgiveness and understanding.  She dreams of peace and wrapping it to give away to her friends.  She knows she is not alone.  She knows she has been given a mission, a mission that can only be fulfilled through the pain she has endured.
Unconstrained passion flows through her veins.  She knows she is an enigma. 
Her pencil lead breaks on the pages of her journal as she fervently writes her creative perception of her life’s events and their meaning. 
Unmoved by the childhood of others outside her window, she is an old soul clothed in the likeness of others, but incredibly different.
In today’s world she would be considered a global thinker, or a maverick, but in her world she is destined to speak for herself and others, fearlessly.
Millions of years of silence for being born a female have passed and it is up to us who have experienced the adversity of our female race to rise up and speak for ourselves and our little girls.
Painted walls and beautiful things cannot silence our message.  We are capable of inspiring, thriving, and changing a national perception, we are women.  Our beauty defined by strength, our strength defined by goodness.  We are American women.

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