She was not made from the rib of a man.
She was made from the dust of Earth,
and the salt from the sea.
She’ll never be one to fall in line,
and she will always walk the path she wishes.
Not seeking validation from the world,
never calling a single place “home,”
because those who refuse to fall in line could not belong.
At least, not in a world where a woman must know her place and only move when told.

The shunned spirit will not be stopped.
She’ll lie beneath no one, nor will she hide behind a single body for shield.
She’ll stand beside, or ride on ahead,
for she makes her own path and fights her own battles.
She was always her own and made her own path.
A path that left behind the glares of blurred faces
that the memory cared not to hold,
and the ashes of the walls that she burned when they stood in her path.
Behind her was a land long dead,
that fed no belly and quenched no thirst.
Yet other eyes saw it as Eden.

Belonging to no one but her own free will.
Like the wind that carried the birds,
with the grace to sway a flower so gentle,
and yet with ferocity to cause homes to crumble,
she flowed along.
Onward to what lies ahead,
a light more pure and brighter than the sunrise.

Though the world disapproved,
she carried on with her head high,
shoulders strong and confident.
Her choices and life were always her own.
Hers to share only with those who were also made of the same grit and strength.
I was not made from the rib of a man.
I was made from the dust of the Earth,
and the salt from the sea.