maelynslavik

Your God is not my God.  Stay with me now, I know this makes your hackles rise, your hands raised in the spiteful fear that you could be challenged. The fear of fraud.

They soar the skies, as free can be,

A gentle flap, a wind-carried wing.

Feathers drift through open air,

While oceans shimmer far beneath.

One could only dream to be

So unbound—so endlessly free.

she takes the stairs, 

her heels click clacking down the hardwood steps. 

she turns the tarnished silver doorknob, 

and the door creaks open. 

before her sits a man. 

If every girl

Looked liked a boy

Acted like a boy

Was a boy

Would we get farther

In life

Would we be respected

If every woman

Was a man

Would we be valued

Would we be able