The Fist is Rigid

The fist is rigid.

The fist smothers and crushes the gentle beauty within.

Over time, the grasp petrifies.

The energy stagnates.

It is crushing her. She cannot breathe as the pressure closes in around her.

The fist is rigid.

She longs to fly. In her heart, she can see her wings unfolding.

In her mind, she envisions her freedom.

But the fist holds tight.

The fist remains rigid.

Still, she dreams of a time when she will fly.

She dreams of when the brilliance of her colors will shine in the sun.

She dreams of being free.

She begs the fist to release her,

but the fist remains rigid.

Refusing to loosen its grasp. The energy stagnates.

It tells her it is for her own protection.

It tells her she cannot be trusted,

and fist remains rigid.

But she cannot breathe.

With her last breath, she dreams of taking flight.

She dreams of freedom.


Patriarchy has given us many beliefs.

The belief that we must control everything is one of the biggest. We have been taught that we should control nature, women’s bodies, people of color, our emotions, our desires, and more. The need for control is so deeply indoctrinated, entire governments have been modeled around it – complete with militant police forces and educational institutions to enforce it.

As I age, I have come to understand that the need for control is not necessary.

Nature has a plan; she needs no governance.

Tear gas, water cannons, and rubber bullets don’t teach us to own our humanity or how to be decent people. They don’t heal the sick, feed the hungry, or provide justice for those we have wronged.

Women are capable of sovereignty without body shaming and illusions of flawlessness.

Skin color, race, and sexual orientation make no difference when you allow people to love without limits and shame.

The belief that we are somehow flawed has done permanent damage to who we think we are and who we believe we can be. We were never broken. We were never dirty. We were never sinners. We were only told this because someone somewhere decided control was necessary.

I am done witnessing the violence that comes with the enforcement and maintenance of control. Being controlled does not make us perfect, it never has, and it never will. It is time to allow ourselves to soften and allow our truth to be revealed.

It is like holding a butterfly in your fist. If you keep tightening your grip, you will destroy the beauty you hold within. Instead of working hard to control everyone within a system of oppression, it is time we could loosen our grip.

Perhaps then we can save the beauty we hold within. We could allow her to exercise her wings. Then maybe we can loosen our grip just a little more to allow her to fly from our grasp. Then, just maybe, we take our eyes off the fist that was held rigid for so long. Maybe we can take our attention off the need for control long enough to look around to see the beauty of a million butterflies and all their brilliant colorful wings shining in the sun.


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