I imagine that there are many women wanting to feel this. A softer touch. A softer voice. More gentle care. More loving attention.
I imagine this woman to be busted wide open, her scars visible in her eyes, her mouth dried from the tears that stole her flesh. I imagine her to be tired, perhaps from the disease that riddled her belly, swelled up in her breasts. I imagine she's tired of crying, tired of praying and even more so, tired of being angry.
Angry frustration at a system that never had her life force in mind. Irritated that the dollar and the power that was King became her biggest demon. Stealing from her. That vitality that nestled in her womb, in the soft parts of her flesh where all she wanted was safe. To feel safe in the world. With her choices. Could she trust them. Could she believe they were honest.
Women want to feel safe. In their bodies. In their homes. They want to feel that when they make a choice to bring something home, to bathe in it, to play with the colors and potions that they are safe. Their health and wellness is protected.