Women's Day - Rise My Tribe

RISE, MY TRIBE, 

Hold my hand, take me along, and pick me up when I fall. 

Roar hard when I charge to break the glass ceiling, 

Be the comrade I can count on, saber to walk through obscure days. 

And on those quiet nights, a salve to alleviate my pain.

It isn't time yet to raise a toast to celebrate the hustle of 

mothers, sisters, and daughters alike. 

The clinking of glasses got to wait. 

From the depths of slumber, I march on to awaken the latent feminism. 

Of dismayed mothers feeling flawed for not birthing a son. 

For she is a progeny, too. 

Of braggart aunties who could have more than one. 

For male is but a gender. 

A highheaded senior relative quizzed about how she could afford an original Fendi. 

For she, too, earns. 

Of daughter's friends gauging their worth on the scale of pulchritude, 

For looks only last for a while. 

Of spiteful co–sisters ridiculing the new bride in the kitchen. 

Forgetting. She's quick to learn. 

Of insensitive co-worker body shaming the rookie.

Unmindful that she is struggling with marital abuse. 

Soar High, My Tribe - there are realms beyond the one known. 

Dilute the spirit of womanhood with malice or 

Rise above hate. 

There is no in-between. 

When the sun shines tomorrow, the day could well be ours!