By Sofía Isabel Cortés – Contributor

can i trace back the raging fire that swallows me whole?

every woman I’ve met holds within,

a secret madness, a hidden sin,

a deep desire waiting to ignite,

and consume her with its raging might.

she guards her soul with utmost care,

afraid to let her wildness flare,

for fear that she might lose control,

and damn her body, mind, and soul.

her temper, appetite, and lust,

all threaten to break her trust,

in the image she’s forced to maintain,

a fragile veneer that hides her pain.

her sexuality, too, is a secret flame,

a yearning that she dare not name,

for fear that it might consume her whole,

and leave her with no self-control.

her secret fantasies, and her ambition,

are what keep her heart in constant tension,

for fear that if she gives in to fun,

she’ll be deemed a danger to everyone.

so every woman, with regret,

believes that madness is her fate,

a deep craziness within her core,

that she must keep hidden forevermore.

then and only then

i start to wonder; was it my mother’s rage all along? or her mother’s? or her’s?