Since beginning of time, perfect machines, were invented & made,
Designed, created & formed, within every shape, & in each shade,
Faced with every adversity, they are always durable & dependable,
Yet, sadly, by some, not valued, & considered merely expendable.
At times, they can be as hard as rock, & just as sturdy & reliant,
And yet, they’re upholstered in silk, & so softly gentle & pliant,
They snap & crack, to the point of braking, yet, ever they mend,
As the wind through weeping willows, they curtsy low, & bend.
They know of poetry, music, dancing, & the old ancient stories,
Those of herbs & spells, & of life’s pains, sufferings & glories,
They know of sustenance & recipes, of comforting & mending,
They are machines of cleansing, creating, & of fixing & bending.
Machines, lubricated in blood, milk, & salt tears of great oceans,
Within the sweat of great stamina, & all their donated emotions,
These perfect machines, called women, are too, human beings,
Perfect machines, creators of life, but with real human feelings.
See more of her work here.
Beautiful art by Kat Shaw & shared with love & gratitude: x 
