Grounded

I am so grounded.
I can’t move.
For years I have built
these safe foundations
high walls of standards,
safety rails.
And here I am
so grounded
I can’t move.
I lift up my head.
I straighten up
till I stand tall.
I notice all the men now,
streaming by;
some whistle,
some just don’t notice,
all keep walking.
And I keep standing
grounded.
I watch while
other women move with ease
lunging toward men,
posing in front of them,
standing in their way.
And the men see them.
The men touch them
and they walk away looking
happy.
And yet,
I am so grounded
I can’t move.
Who will notice me?
Should I bend down
and chip away my foundation
so I can stand in their path
and be moved by them?
Oh, how I long to move my feet…
just a little…
wiggle my toes…
just a little…
Or do I just stand here
grounded still
waiting?
I wait.
Ahh so many times
I feel less grounded
and more grinded,
like I am being pressed into powder,
ashes,
till I am nothing left.
Or sometimes
I feel less grounded
and more like ground,
nothing but dirt
to be walked upon
to be ignored.
And yet I remain here
Grounded
in hope.

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