For I am with my tribe.
Which to some could be very scary,
For who knows the power of a group,
A gaggle, a conglomeration,
Or whatever the collective noun is
For women of a certain age,
Complete with comfy jumpers,
Dyed hair in all sorts of colours
Statement spectacles
And sensible shoes,
Bemoaning the fact that impending menopause
Makes you itchy and bitchy,
But still makes you horny as hell.
(Did I put my vibrator away before the house sitter
came – I can’t remember)
For I am with my tribe.
And we understand each other
On a cellular level.
Something most of us sadly lack
In our everyday lives.
These are people who you can happily talk to
About choice and desire
Happiness and grief
Love and sex
Home and work
Wants and needs
And the will to be yourself
(Which I cannot do with other friends
As much as I love them
And this is okay.)
For I am with my tribe.
And for two days,
I have full permission
To just be me.
And I will come away from this:
Replete
Swearing
Rejuvenated
Rambunctious
Horny
And happy.
God help the world.
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