. . .
i am not your rib.
i denounce such foolishness.
i refuse to believe that i, a magnificence of flux and flow, have roots in an origin story that tells me i am an after thought.
i refuse to believe that the magnitudes held within the elasticity of my being were created from rigid bone alone.
i refuse the notion that i come from the cage of a man, when man so willingly let my line shoulder the burden of being cast from the garden; left us to wear the prison garb of temptress, sinner, witch, subservient, and whore.
i am the softness,
and the expansiveness of the womb.
i am cycles of both potent fertility and exquisite shedding aligned with the moon herself.
i am the perpetual rhythm and pulse of oceans past and present.
i am the cleaving of tectonic plates as the earth labours to give birth to herself.
i am the ecstasy of supernovas.
all of that is contained in this vessel.
do not reduce my origin story to the brittle hardness of one rib taken from the cage of one man.