It is what a woman thinks of herself that really determines her fate.
Henry David Thoreau (paraphrased)
and below a lil comfort for "shrieking harridans"
, caramel supernovas momentarily stuck in they own sweetness, "foolish frightful wom[e]n", et al
And I say to mankind, Be not curious about God,
For I who am curious about each am not curious about God,
(No array of terms can say how much I am at peace about
God and about death.)
I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God
not in the least,
Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than
Why should I wish to see God better than this day?
I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and
each moment then,
In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own
face in the glass,
I find letters from God dropt in the street, and every one is
signed by God's name,
And I leave them where they are, for I know that wheresoe'er
Others will punctually come for ever and ever.
Walt Whitman, "Song of Myself" (48)
In the meantime...
i beg my bones to be good but
they keep clicking music and
i spin in the center of myself
a foolish frightful woman
moving my skin against the wind
and tap dancing for my life.