Feminist

In the garden of equality,

They plant seeds of discord.

Calling it love,

Sprouting weeds,

They call flowers.

They sip,

On cups of contradiction,

Brewed with leaves of,

Exclusion. 

Sweetened with,

The nectar of ignorance.

Their words,

Sharp as thorns,

Cutting deep,

Into the skin of,

Sisterhood.

They say,

My body,

My choice,

Until -

The choice is not,

Their voice.

Like gardeners,

Pruning roses,

They wish to snip,

Snip,

Snip away,

At the spectrum,

Of identity.

Leaving behind,

Only what,

Their hands,

Wish to hold.

But ears listen,

To respect,

Which then grows, 

Like wildflowers,

In places,

They swore,

Were barren. 

Our roots,

Intertwine, 

Stronger than,

The fences,

They build.

And one day,

We shall see, 

A garden, 

Bloomed, 

From the seeds of,

Acceptance.

A rainbow,

Of petals,

Under the sun,

Of understanding. 

And maybe then,

They will see,

The beauty,

In every,

Single,

Flower.