There’s Nothing more Dangerous than a Woman Like This.

Maybe the most dangerous, radical thing we could ever do is to be ourselves. 

I strive not to hide in my words
But to be revealed there
Naked and shaking
Holding my treasured truth with a crooked smile and tears streaming down my face
Looking like I’m up to no good
Because I know there’s nothing as dangerous as a woman
Who hears the pulse of her own heart
And dances to it
Who knows the song of her truth
And sings it out loud
Who drums on the thick flesh of her hips
Unashamed to be loud and spacious in her body
Not caring who hears
Only caring about loving the naked ecstasy when she doesn’t care so much
As she writhes and shouts to the flooding rhythm of her own story.

There’s nothing as dangerous
As a woman
Who is utterly free
From the jail of her own soul
From self-doubt and the fury of silence and suppression slicked on by society,
For she crackles like a flame
While she sits still
In the stage four hurricane eye of her voice
Her power, her story—
Blowing gusts of whipping winds over every city in the country
Wisdom spilling from her lips like honey
Unapologetic
She is
Held to no billboard beauty standards.

She wears truth beautifully,
For it is all she is draped in
It is all she can stand to feel on her supple skin
No more cheap polyester lies
Freeing gusts of honestly only
For they go through sparkly surface skin
To puncture bone
And the rapturous magic of her ruby heart drips out—
One trembling word at a time.
One gasping breath at a time.
One confused, tearful smile at a time.

Real is here to stay.
Bullsh*t can go home.
It can run off with he-said, she-said gossip
And trying too hard to be liked
And chasing boys who don’t see a trace of her worth
She’s had enough of it for one life
She’s breathed it, lived it
Made a mask of it all
Empty.
Empty.
Empty.
Now she knows—

There’s nothing more deliciously dangerous
than a woman who is comfortable
in her own skin.
Who basks in the soulful crispness of her identity
And knows the unstoppable magic she is,
Letting the fullness of her heart spill over her jeans
Cellulite—gasp!
She cares more about being love.
Spreading hope.
Listening to the gentle whispers of the earth
And the fertile knowing of her own body.

Ear perched to the hot, pulsing ground,
She comes alive in the mud and sh*t and pain of it all
A mosaic of patterned experience, good and bad, terrible and beautiful, traumatic and tantalizing
She comes alive when every hope seems to die
The ember inside her lights
Ignites
Fights
For
What’s right
What’s real
What’s true
What’s sensual
Vulnerable
And healing.

‘Cause there’s nothing more dangerous
than a woman who knows
that the universe flows through her
and through her and through her…
That she is birth and death
Fire and water
Love and pain
A magnificent masterpiece of
Crumbling endings and tiny buds of new beginnings.
She pulls from darkness and reaches out hard for light
Velvety black midnight and milky jam sunrise
Equally necessary
She falls head over heels for both
And walks between worlds
Seamlessly.

There’s nothing more dangerous
than a woman who remembers
the magic she is
A woman who knows that her tears and truth make the world more beautiful
A woman who knows that the universe flows through her and through her and through her…
For eternity.

~

Author: Sarah Harvey