She painted her skin

To cover the despair and bruising, 

Putting her best face forward and

Walking on eggshells

So no one felt uncomfortable  – 

Except for her. 

So, they called her brave. 

She smiled a sad smile

As she worked twice as hard

For 3/4 the pay and 1/2 the recognition. 

They taxed her breasts

As if they burdened society – 

As if SHE burdened society. 

But no one called her brave. 

She built a somewhat life with 

Glass ceilings, double standards,

And quid pro quos. 

Forced to climb the ladder with knees pressed closed

Against peeping Toms looking up her skirt,

Her hands tied behind her back, seen simply as a conquest. 

But no one called her brave.

She stood up to sit at the table 

Her face decorated with war paint,

Stirring those eggshells into their morning coffee

While breastfeeding her babies in public bathrooms,

And choking on post-partum poison.

She stopped playing small

And started calling herself brave.

She started writing a new script,

Tattooing her tits with power symbols

Building her own board rooms

And breastfeeding her babies in public.

No longer willing to dance backwards in heels, 

She spread her legs into privileged places,

And she started calling herself brave.

She’s dismantling the Patriarchy of Prey

Letting her grey hair and tattooed boobs fly free,

No longer corseting herself to appease.

As a map etches itself across her face

Documenting the closeted secrets of her journey,

Rescripting vulnerability as a strength.

We crown her for her bravery.

She’s re-establishing the Matriarchy of Magic

Bringing forth the Feminine Divine

To heal the me too wounds, 

To build conscious companies without

Glass ceilings, casting couches, closed doors

Or gender and race biased pay scales. 

We crown her for her bravery.

She’s standing on the shoulders 

Of those who came before.

She doesn’t disparage them 

For not doing what she’s done,

Because she wouldn’t be where she is

If they hadn’t taken the steps they did.

They are the making of the brave woman. 

She gazes back with respect,

For their bravery lives in her bones.

She reaches forward pulling

The next generation upon her shoulders

To reach the heights she couldn’t.

Each One lending equally to

The making of the Brave Woman. 

She’s never been brave alone.

It’s not an individual sport.

We’ve always been a village. 

She takes no step the others didn’t prepare her for.

Each generation of women pushes the boundaries for the next.

Contributing her unique ingredient

To the making of the Brave Woman.

SHE is WE

As maids, mothers and crones

Maintain womblike greenhouses

To foster seven generations of bravery.

A holding of sovereign sacred safe spaces 

For sensuous Souls wholly dedicated

To the keeping of the Brave Woman.

J. Klemos