Of Vending Machines and Eye Rolls

 If you are 

A woman 

Of a certain age 

Then you were likely taught 

All that "woman" is defined as 

And now you look back 

From the perspective 

Of what some call wisdom

And perhaps it is 

It could be just resignation 

Some permanent state of "eye roll" 

The peculiar thing 

About opening your eyes 

Is that you still walk into things 

Because most of the world 

Still has them closed 

You have loved some

Tolerated others 

A choice few you hold

In carefully disguised contempt 

Because, well, there they are 

It's too messy, after all 

Heaving them off a cliff 

The world is an endless list 

Of expectations

You were taught 

To define yourself by its fulfillment 

A human vending machine of sorts 

What flavor do YOU want today? 

How many in your sphere actually see you? 

I mean, who looks AT the vending machine

Beyond what they want, of course 

If it doesn't give up the goods 

We give it a shove, say "it's broken"

Oh, my.  You didn't get what you wanted. 

Is it still love if we're out of Snickers?

What does it mean when the vending machine is empty?

Never mind asking why no one even noticed before now

Countless women came before 

And now we are here 

We decide what we shall make of this journey

Redefining

Sovereignty begins where definition based on the other ends 

Truth can breathe when compliance is not a way of life 

Love reigns for all when it begins with the self 

Wholeness gives life to all when we understand it is good to take up space