Corey Hutchins

Boudicca


You may be surprised
      may be incredulous
      looking at me across your desk:
      a petite Irish-looking girl in a too-big suit,
      shaking a little from nerves and caffeine.
You may be judging my every glance, 
      deciding I'm weak and little,
      anything but fit for your old boys' club business.
But I'm afraid you're wrong.
I am Boudicca.
      An ancient Celtic female soul,
      harrowed by sexism and death,
      battered by war, but never broken.
I stand alone without a man,
      exalting in the power of my womanhood,
      saving my people, my children.
I am the feminine defense against invaders,
      my soul screaming and rattling inside me,
      crying to burst from me and scatter,
      to fill the fallen ones around me with its greatness.
I am a warrior.  I am a woman.
My body barely contains me.
      You certainly can't.
I am that woman, Boudicca,
      and I sit here across from you at your desk,
      small but blazing with passion, energy, and wrath. 
You won't dare to cross me once you find the real me
      hidden in this too-big suit
      living under foundation and lipstick.
My rawness will thrill and terrify you
      and you at your pristine desk
      will loosen your tie
      and worship the warrior woman.

—Corey Hutchins

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