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.