“Ain’t I a woman?”
I am woman
but there is more than roar
in my feminism
More than pink and pearls
and breasts and guesses
at how quickly the legs should part
as sometimes seems
nearly every male assumes they must
More than eyes
and lashes, purses, dresses
dreamy voices, shopping bags
More than make-up, fake-up
gossip, emotional storms
More than societal roles
and pink-collar careers
I am not that woman image
the world made for me
I am not silent, I am not brash
I am the woman who won the fight.
I am the woman who made ends meet
the woman who supported a family
the woman who did it all alone
the woman who never cried for you to see
the woman who told you what she meant
but not everything
the woman who achieved
the woman who struggled
who comforted, who mourned
I am the woman that created life
from this all things flow
I am the woman who loves
more than the world can know
I am a woman of violence,
of passion, of red rage
I am a woman of disillusionment
the woman who answered
who explored, who was broken,
who broke you, too.
And woman is more than you think it is
Woman is pain. Woman is strength.
Woman is love, art and freedom.
Woman is the ugliness of beauty.
Woman is the maze.
Woman guides the way.
So I raise my glass
to the progesterone and estrogen bearing
the child-bearing, the life-bearing ones
who have come this far
and not let go
because equality is a budding dream
and woman is more than you’ll ever know.