The Invitation
The face of frustration.
Have her emotions finally left the station?
Gone without explanation.
She was the woman, that always started the conversation.
Her words built the foundation.
She was the making of her own creation.
A woman of her own generation.
Away from the patriarchal imagination.
No explanations, or a dose of manipulation.
When it comes to expectations, duties and care it is never in moderation.
It builds and builds, until all that is left is alienation, wrapped in female occupation.
The irritation.
The hesitation.
The desperation.
To be a woman there is always so much anticipation.
We wait for the PAUSE – is it a transformation?
Oh to the one who finds the revelation.
Will it be inspiration, or maybe motivation, perhaps our friend determination?
Our education and imagination, what a killer combination.
There is trepidation.
Imposter syndrome is our infatuation, it ties us up, sending us into our own inflicted probation.
When will she realise she is the new sensation, imagine the revelation?
She wakes from hallucination.
She hasn’t left the station.
The explanation is clear; it is a celebration.
She is the affirmation.
Her words a combination of manifestation.
Frustration was just a moment, negativity the loudest exaggeration.
All the is left is admiration.
This is your invitation.