She lights a cigarette,
smokes a few dreams,
and grinds ashes
on the glass ceiling.
Close isn’t close enough,
but dropping a match
into stubborn throats
will keep the bonfire growing.
Wound tight in a man’s world
she collects loose ends to braid rope
so the girls who follow won’t lose their way.
For every struggle another star earns her light.
While masculine energy huddles around coins,
she rallies women to rise and fracture glass.
Comments
powerful poem.
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