When my mom was in high school in the late ’50s-early ’60s, women at her school weren’t allowed to play sports. Instead, she got second place in the “posture queen” contest (not a contest she entered, teachers just voted on how straight the girls sat up at their desks…ugh) and received a charm bracelet. This tattoo was part sentiment, part fuck you, and part reclamation.

–the violet zoo

I wanted to follow the previous post, a kind of feminist manifesto, with this poem. Being a strong woman does not make me immune to the sentiments that follow. In fact, much of my poetry depicts my inner struggle with trying to do what is best for myself–being a “strong female,” mainly when it comes to relationships. And maybe not succeeding in the most heroic way possible. Which is ok.

–the violet zoo

This post is going to make a liar of me–I stated on Instagram that this poem was exclusive to ig only, but then it became a 2-post discussion and now I want it here. A girl can change her mind!

I don’t remember what triggered these thoughts (ahem, wine…) but here they are:

I didn’t wait
all these years
to settle now.

And I wasn’t waiting.
I was evolving,
perfecting,
basking,
and simply being
whole.
No complement required.

But I will take one.
If you can handle me.
If you can make me
more free
than I am
flying solo.

–the violet zoo