They'll be at it all the time. Absorbing everything. How you tug at your neckline in those moments of troubleshooting. How you roll your eyes in disagreement. How you flip your hair back while focussing. How you smack your lips out of boredom. How you engage people. The loudness of your laughter. The softness of your smile. The unseen crevices lurking beneath your intact aura. What unsettles you. What makes your palms sweat. How you tremble and how you fret. How you hold back your tears. How you gulp down the knot in your throat. How you cross and uncross your legs. The angles of your eyebrows when you frown. Your sheepish demeanour. Your assertiveness. They'll judge anyways, to see where you lie on the spectrum of their definition of a 'good' woman.
Caught up in their own quagmire, they perhaps forget the very essence of existence. Trying so hard to find the 'good' in every woman they come across, they forget the 'woman'. They forget you are 'life' itself. They forget you can't be unearthed. Because you are the womb. You are the grave. You are enough without being what this twisted society, decides what beautiful is.
You are the entire cosmos in motion.
"A woman's artistry starts in her mind.
Spills into her heart.
Blossoms all over her body,
And carries over into her soul."
2 comments:
Women are indeed beautiful. I respect ladies.
Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.
Thanks a lot for going through the post. Happy reading in future too.
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