When the Party is Over.

When the party is over, all I have are the thoughts in my head and no one to listen.

Although someone is always there, we are never sober, and the lights are always glistening.

We hide in our nighttime daydreams to forget everything our days are missing.

My sadness is a mystery.

Until the sun rises back to misery, I think of you and what you did to me.

I watch you dance, and the stage is glittery.

The tequila gets the best of me, but not enough to undo history.

I twirl in our rainbow parade so free love can exist, but all I've seen is damage in love and never bliss.

Of all the people to abandon me, it wasn't supposed to be him.

He represents pride, and the choice is a woman's right.

Shouldn't he believe in respect with his open mind and leftist view?

Yet In his mind, I am still nothing to lose.

I'm something to use, and it's emotional abuse.

Like when our right to vote became an excuse.

It titled us housewife and proved the mystique to be true.

It convinced us the feminine has no sense to choose.

It was honorable to give up our dreams, intelligence, and freedom.

But I know why the caged bird sings.

That beautiful melody was just a cry for help.

I've always heard my mother carry that tune.

These boys want that out of me, but I will not allow that to be true.

Sometimes when the party was over, I lost myself in him.

But I will not be the girl who is lying with him while she is fighting for our freedom.

He will never tell her as she marches and chants; he found himself in my bed.

He is playing with hearts while we are fighting for our rights.

If I allowed myself to love him, I would be allowing myself to hurt another woman.

In which I would be dishonoring everyone who has come before me to fight for my liberty.

She thinks this war is on Republicans.

Although, he is a liberal. He is a man.

They have declared war on women.

I declare war on them.

I will not scream from the streets, but I will speak from the podium, and she will hear me.

Then she will not only fight for her rights, but she will leave a liar too.

So if you ask me my place in this world and my role in it, I would say it is in solitude.

My fascist friends mock me as I walk home in melancholy.

So when the party is over, I write, sitting in my loneliness.

That's what Emily Dickinson would do, and with hope perched in my soul, I sing.

With words and thoughts in my head, the pages are the only thing that listens.

But I read Remember Rapture by Bell and watched her words prevail.

It began to feel like the women before I was the only ones to hear me.

They cured my most profound depression by fighting to heal our oppression.

And I found the will to fight even if it's alone.

So I come as one, but I stand as 10,000.

Where I stand on the shoulders of Maya.

I do something outside myself like Ruth.

I'm fragile as a bomb like Frida.

Like Betty, I am speaking my truth.

These are not dreams or nightmares; this is my reality.

I write about what I care about, hoping others will join me.

When the party is over, I write to live.

I live to write, so you do