I am iron butterfly ... / I am she/we / of flesh / and iron / and silk wings, / healing, flying / into a gentle blue sky.

I am iron butterfly ... / I am she/we / of flesh / and iron / and silk wings, / healing, flying / into a gentle blue sky.

We were made to believe / our faces betrayed us. / Our bodies were loud / with yellow / screaming flesh / needing to be silenced / behind barbed wire.

Bad women celebrate themselves.

I found that my wounds begin to heal when the voices of those endangered by silence are given power. The silence of hopelessness, of despair buried in the depths of poverty, violence, racism are more deadly than bullets. The gift of light, in our compassion, our listening, our works of love is the gift of life to ourselves.