Woman.
Care-taker, life-giver,
nurturer, chef, doormat.
Woman.
Raised to believe my gender put
me on the bottom.
I am to please, not to be pleased.
I am the inferior, the weak, the
soft, the submissive.
Already born with joy, told to
mask the pain.
Hand swatted with scorn when
a fingertip probed the fire.
But boys will be boys.
And jump from rooftops and
run around and hurt each other.
Be a young lady.
Cover the sultry flesh, only to
be seen by one man.
Legs crossed, knee-length skirt,
chest covered, hushed voice.
Misbehave, spirited one.
Don’t give in to them, they base
your character on what sexual
organs you have.
Walk topless, be on top.
Throw your fists, show your
lividness.
Have a loud mouth,
blurt out the answers.
Spirited one.
Demand to be pleased
Give to whoever you
want, whatever you
want.
Feel passionately,
express.
Live to please yourself.
Human.
Be an equal, stand
unaltered.
Pour tears from the
cracks in your skin,
scream.
Sweat, wear your hair
down, be sultry.
Speak, don’t go unspoken.
You have a voice, use it.
Make your presence
known.
Be human.