It is a curious thing to be a woman alone,
Free to scream and whirl around from room to room, dizzying yourself until you fall down.
To cry when you need to, laugh if you’re able,
Storm around and yell at the laundry with no need to explain why.
No one to walk on eggshells wondering when the next wave will strike.
It always does.
And this time, you can be free to be the storm or the eye-
it’s your choice alone.