womanhood

i feel the weight of anne and marie and diana
of zelda and zora 
of virginia and her judith
of edmonia and artemesia
of the women history neglected
the flames of their stories extinguishing as the candle wax wanes
they are perched on my shoulder, floating around my head, clinging to my ear
i hear their whispers of consolation in anguish 
i feel their voices; a collective roar of feminine force
my skull holds the whirlwinds of absolute rage
manifesting as a single tear on my cheek upon an otherwise poised demeanor 
as to compromise my composure would be delusional or crazed or deranged
as any words uttered would be interpreted through a funnel of innate femininity 
innate not in womanhood, but in the gaze we are met with