Wrought in ferrous flesh, the lightning has struck.
Now, beyond her years, she sparks genius.
Born under Draco’s flame and Libra’s scales,
Soon, she will outgrow skies and take down Mars.
Fear like Jericho! She can destroy you.
She dances with the Cleopatra asp,
Matching each step of the last standing man.
Her furious breath blooms on ceiling’s glass.
She has not backed down, indignant Caesar.
She has fought since she bled – and will bleed yet –
She will not fold to keep the tidy home
But will see the warming waters boil dry.
Woman of the world, Thatcher, Ginsburg, Parks.
But, Jesus, does the girl have any sense?
I mean, there’s no diamonds waiting out there.
The kettle’s on, stand up, sit down – Quiet!
Hear what The Man said; ‘Blessed be the meek’.
Birth the saviour, make a home, stay side-lined.
What men wouldn’t give to be in your… heels.
Protect your daughters, our sons can be bold.
This isn’t a recipe or shop-list,
It is truly for good that we must stay
Incongruent, separate, divided.
We’re cut from the same cloth our mother knit,
But there comes a time when I must take charge
And tell you – for your own good – please, pipe down.
Wrists chained, I offer my palms to divine.
The God in the sky is awful and male,
He’ll spot in the lines something cruel and true.
Tough, calloused visions of women in pain.
They are roughed and wronged; how will she take it?
Does she know her rank in His destiny?
A child, but she must learn the prophecy.
It will be her ruin; it must be done soon.
To her, I’ll become one of the sinners;
I am, after all, but Adam’s mimic.
Will she then yearn for my throaty burden?
If I could somehow lend her ease, I would.
Oh, I would give her the world if I could.