Welcome to the conversation!

I know there's a lot going on in the main threads, I've been enjoying all the goodies myself. But it's nice to come down after our original high to a different kind of inspiration....

Here's a poem from another Facebook artist that I follow who calls herself The Dreamer...


And suddenly one
morning she woke up
to find every object
touched with colour,
every sound – music,
and even silence had
a rhythm that she
could dance to.

~ The Dreamer

I just wanted to share this poem - I think it ties in with our discussion earlier about feminism and I think it is a lovely poem about women from a woman's perspective. Which is important 'cause we have more than enough poems about women from men's perspectives.

Here is the introduction ( www.huffingtonpost.com/sarah-kay/the-type_b_3533002.html ): 

And the poem:


The Type

       -Sarah Kay


Everyone needs a place. It shouldn't be inside of someone else. -Richard Siken



If you grow up the type of woman men want to look at,

you can let them look at you. But do not mistake eyes for hands.


Or windows.

Or mirrors.


Let them see what a woman looks like.

They may not have ever seen one before.


If you grow up the type of woman men want to touch,

you can let them touch you.


Sometimes it is not you they are reaching for.

Sometimes it is a bottle. A door. A sandwich. A Pulitzer. Another woman.


But their hands found you first. Do not mistake yourself for a guardian.

Or a muse. Or a promise. Or a victim. Or a snack.


You are a woman. Skin and bones. Veins and nerves. Hair and sweat.

You are not made of metaphors. Not apologies. Not excuses.


If you grow up the type of woman men want to hold,

you can let them hold you.


All day they practice keeping their bodies upright--

even after all this evolving, it still feels unnatural, still strains the muscles,


holds firm the arms and spine. Only some men will want to learn

what it feels like to curl themselves into a question mark around you,


admit they do not have the answers

they thought they would have by now;


some men will want to hold you like The Answer.

You are not The Answer.


You are not the problem. You are not the poem

or the punchline or the riddle or the joke.


Woman. If you grow up the type men want to love,

You can let them love you.


Being loved is not the same thing as loving.

When you fall in love, it is discovering the ocean


after years of puddle jumping. It is realizing you have hands.

It is reaching for the tightrope when the crowds have all gone home.


Do not spend time wondering if you are the type of woman

men will hurt. If he leaves you with a car alarm heart, you learn to sing along.


It is hard to stop loving the ocean. Even after it has left you gasping, salty.

Forgive yourself for the decisions you have made, the ones you still call


mistakes when you tuck them in at night. And know this:

Know you are the type of woman who is searching for a place to call yours.


Let the statues crumble.

You have always been the place.


You are a woman who can build it yourself.

You were born to build.

Little girls 'should' be brought up with that poem, and have it kept by their bedside....This should be read to them instead of those fairytales...  I might send it to my niece actually...