A Woman’s Tears

A Woman’s Tears
by Tami Olsen

I stand before the world
and I open my heart to the pain of millions like me
and there is no end to it.
Pain wraps around my chest like a rope.
It squeezes until tears flow from my eyes
and my hands tremble.
Pain we have held back for centuries,
hidden behind downcast eyes and false meekness,
diluted with propriety.
Pain that has been hardening in each heart
until today.
Today I release it.
It is not sorrow that produces these tears,
it is rage.
See them for what they are.
They are fire in our eyes.
They are acid in our touch.
They are gravel in our throats.
Do not mistake these tears for sadness.
They are resolve.
Do not assume these tears make us weak.
They are strength.
Do not see these tears and think we have lost.
They are the final sacrifice.
When our rage burns hot enough for tears,
we will tear down this pain,
we will rise up and hide no longer,
we will stand.
And we will take back the world.

I Seriously Believe

I seriously believe
So clap your fucking hands with me
Make the fairies dance

clap clap clap

Smeared across your fantasy
Giving light to sanity
Dance the fucking dream with me

dance dance dance

Break the happy child’s dream
Shatter every lullaby
Ripping wings off butterflies

fly fly fly

Give us room to rage and scream
Find yourself with tears again
Clap your fucking hands

cry cry cry

The Old Farmers Know

This poem was written for my grandpa’s funeral. He was like a father to me, and always supported everything I did. I wanted to give him something special to send him on. <3

The old farmers know.

When to harvest the crop;
when to bring in the cattle.
They know how much farther
the horse can pull the plow.
They know how much longer
the sun will light their work.

They know when to pull a calf
and when to put one down.
They rise with the sun
and set with it.
They see life begin
and they see it end.

The old farmers know.

They know when they’ve
lived a good life.
They know when they’ve
left a good legacy.
When they’ve worked hard
and when they’ve loved harder.

And the old farmers know
when to go home.

They know when they’re ready
and when to let go.
They know we’ll be alright;
we’ll make it on our own.
And when the Lord beckons them
and the earth welcomes them
the old farmers know.

Oh Chrome!

But, software! what popup through yonder windows breaks?
It is the error, and IE is the browser.
Arise, fair Chrome, and kill the envious IE,
Who is already sick and pale with addons,
That thou, freeware, art far more fair than she.