*A Woman of No Apologies*

Deep innocence.
Somehow advancing her age of youthful powers.
And her skin shares breaths to lift free what is false within the journey of life.
She lives with a loud shy; few can here her tear’s true fall-through.
She swims below death cycles.

Fixed up to survive the social sweat with calm demure.
Her safe prices are paying for what coiffures within expensive walls.
Her masks are ever wading to face the desire of her soul’s rupture.
There is mother in her sky’s womb.

Deceits and gentle cages have their innocence or premeditative aims’ birthing.
What priceless accounts of girl or lady can give to receive; not take; not be taken.

A woman wants not a guise or needs not a guise or a pretense throughout her.
She has shed her safest fears.
Her failed and seasoned naked sacredness walks into true beauty.
Nothing lies to protect her from her exposed wholeness of body and soul.
She will not have to ever apologize for being one.

Her honesty’s wrath is un-possessed by harms’ reach aimed to stir her striking.
She is strong and a dew touched feather.
She laughs with the face & hands of a clock called ‘Now’.
She sighs as easy as she shows up alive or dies naturally.
She comes home to herself ever learning about her able truth-falls.

Her soul’s body is found here.
Nothing can remove her willingness to love and be loved by alone we are together.
She is ever touching and being touched by laughter’s raw awakening.
She arrives here at peace.
Becomes emptied of harm, or plight, or suffering.

She is the end of war.

© Copyright 2008, 2010 C.C. Arshagra

*A Woman of No Apologies*

C.C. Arshagra

NEW BRITAIN, United States

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Artist's Description



^I believe a poem utilizing these three powerful, beautiful, and potentially critical words (girl / lady / woman) deserves some poetic exposure of my relationship to them, and how they have come to be layered here in this rewrite of a poem (See: History).

I have always been a deep observer of peoples living behavior. When I was a child, I realized something about some of the females that I met and knew, and some came more alive, true, and non-condescending toward a child, they were of waking intrigue along the pathway of my young and youthfully aging life. Here, what sparkled my soul’s eyes then still does to this day.

I, throughout my life, have always gratefully, qualitatively & respectfully described the most vivid, most dynamic, present, and most alive personality traits of these female traits as ‘woman’. There was something ‘here’ about them that did not exist in the females I experienced as ‘girls’ or ‘ladies’ (not to under mind their beautiful qualities of trust, fairness, friendship, and support). These word distinctions have been with me my whole life. I honestly mean no harm, and still honesty, and esthetically do admit to these distinctions I have grown to forever adore and describe as such.

I grew, yes, and still grow with this relationship to these words. Perhaps there seems here a negative stereotyping coming from the poem to you, but I assure you it is not so in my heart and soul. It is simply my preference of female beauty that runs so much deeper than skin, or old age. There is, in the end, little difference here to the way I choose to live and aspire my own human soul’s walk through life.

I could add I have always been a feminist of sorts, but to say that is also a tender trap of sorts. The simple truth is I love the polar diversity & universal alignment between soul supportive loving peoples, in all sacred love that resides most prominently in the fleeting essence of moment itself, in harmonized sensuality, in the balance and share of power, with the primal wisdom’s that still humanly guides us to this day, and throughout highly spiritual understanding/responsibility/falling innocence and karmic maturity of sex. I love love.

I love the human ideal. And I love equality, honesty, and the living trials of living trust. I do not believe in an inferior gender. It is here I see and admire the ‘woman’.

I also do not support the warring rise of a matriarchal race to battle on, defeat, and replace a patriarchal one, only to become the opposite of the same. It is here I see the battles, wars, and harmful behaviors of girls and ladies. (Often dressed in nice/good/better than) And so the poem ends as it does.

The female can end warring. Women versus Men can procreate, and love this dance of life, and or, fight with and ever against love via a most deep form of deceit; via the combat of love. To become the perpetuating wombs, phallic weapons and lovers of hatred, killing, and destruction that is war. The sexual tension of love/hate: here is often a mutual masturbating tension of it. , perhaps the loneliest of all orgasmic doorways. —This will end human life on earth, and derail the human ideal into oblivion; or an old kingdom of reptilian nature, insect behavior, a hybrid of technology/robots/flesh and casual genocides. A dormancy and or death of the human underconscious. Or perhaps worst yet, the complacency, and selfishly justifiable participation in its demise. Winning, (?) keeping score of dead bodies as you watch war on TV.

And so this is the context of the words ‘lady’ and ‘girl’ utilizes in this poem. This also does not excuse any male, bi-, gay, celibate, or trans- sexual life style being from the same justifications to harm love, or hope born of human love & an earthly gratitude of existence. Woman there is work to do. You get up each day and carry on to save the world, for it is so simple, natural, unpretentious, without ego, and void of any hero identity, yet ever strong upon the crest and edge of accountable life, human integrity. It takes courage to be human. Grateful.

Thank you, and please: Feel free to voice any and all your feed back to my bubble-mail if this poem or description entry falls to your being, mind, or emotions in an angry or combative way. (Should you be so moved.)?

All viewers: Please comment according to RB Policy. Please, respond, send comment and mail, say something!*


NOTE: This poem has recently been recorded. Reading: by Dawn Reger, Recording: digital film recording by Mic Cusimano. I await the edited results and will share it here should the filmmaker involved here find time to bring the footage to a public view. Let me know if you what to receive a notice about this. Give reference to it.


This is a major rewrite of a RedBubble posted (3rd draft poem) of the same title
It received to the date 6/18/2010 193 views. 1 fav., and no comments. In retrospect, I did not think it to be a very good poem. I guess I left it posted for a few reasons. 1. Humility. 2. An honest lesson left to teach myself about how, or what can motivate a poem to be written from a motivation born of my own vulnerabilities. I see this now. And so I rewrote it. and 3. I guess old RB posted writings (for the most part) are never seen or read once they fall deep into the writings listing.

The previous posted version of this poem was Inspired by RedBubble Artist who now posts under the name"*transmute*":http://www.redbubble.com/people/transmute and his poem Girls and Women

It was, for some time, the most popular poem within the Writing section of RB when I joined.^

Artwork Comments

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