Never do the mistake of trying to define a woman who is neither willing to be defined, nor found.
Women who have long lost the sense of what should be, and what would be. Could be is our synonym for life. We either can or cannot, and it all depends on our capacity at the moment, and if we want or not.
We love what we want, the way we want. We will love you with our hearts, beyond our hearts, and a little far beyond all the way to infinity, just to make sure you are loved enough in your next lives.
But we will leave, unceremoniously, the minute you show a faint miasma of normalcy, disrespect, or discomfort. We don’t hate, we “nothing”, without any residuals other than the remains of the love that could have been all yours.
We are patriotic enough to find a lodge in the labyrinth of your Gotham, we will never mistake it for home; our hearts are stateless. Just don’t ever claim it is Eden!
We don’t have the luxury of leaning on a little, we have learned that we only have our own backbone, and it is the only thing that we can rely on. We ‘ve learned how to keep it flexible; the harder the thing the more prone it is to break. We cannot afford being broken, at all levels.
We know a little more than what you know, and we stand small in front of what’s big in awe. We do the ugly crying till we heartily giggle. We are all the alleged complexities, as well as the contradictions that you hate and adore.
If anything, when you stop loving. Don’t hate or judge, don’t try to define, or find us again. Accept what you saw, and smile back for the rainbow that passed by.