Miss engineer

Her blue jeans flow into leader sneakers,
a nude fair face with wild hair ponytailed.
Her thin figure blends effortlessly thus
into the testosterone full fragrance.

Fortunate coincidence of features
with those promoted in trend magazines
freed her to intellectual ventures
and to snub the complying mannequins.

The random chromosomes combination
granted further stubborn intelligence
to pursue the defying vocation
most contrary to female convention.

Many stars aligned to tunnel her through
a ceiling she's better poised to fracture.

The goddess in each

Where her heels lift,
with the ground kiss,
there bloom wild daisies.

When her lips open,
birds ruffle bloatin'
and prepare to chorus.

What crossed her touch
left the larva to wings
and discovered its reach.

She carries a wand,
blossoms to give life,
to song birds and men.

Women are left to wonder
what makes her brighter
as if it were to see.

Men are left in wonder
over their own measure
and why that'd be.

She is but the owner
of her own breeze
design and rhythmic steps.

Will measure to none,
while nodding to praise,
and ignoring the knifes.

No contour is fairer
nor is it more than skin
we are all born with.

The goddess in each
howling to be unleashed
from the mirror we perceive.