This soul is a gift from great women that came before me,"

"This soul is a gift from great women that came before me," and I believed her.

She had the nostalgic honesty of yesterday, spoke with a wisdom of few.

She carried especially their scars with a grace that would make you marvel as she drowned in the pain & tears of the many women that came before her.

It was hard to see the person she was, but once in a while she would appear, unwelcomed by mortals that worshipped the great women that were parts of her soul.

So she shunned & despised herself, and favoured the edges where only the sun's residuals reached. Like in a museum, morsels of the great women adorned the glass walls to impress mortals that sought a deity in her. The more they marveled at the pageant, the more she waned into oblivion. Unknown to herself.

Untill she woke up one day resenting the great women for their gift; for being a stranger to herself.

(A dramatised conversation with a young woman struggling with self acceptance, society's expectations and stereotypes.)