A different mold for every woman: Poem

Warrior woman


You’re too strong

Too tall

Your breasts are too small.

Why couldn’t she be pretty?

That’s no way to be a lady.

Your steps should be more delicate…

Unwomanly habits to eradicate

Before she has a chance to vindicate.

Her movements are too agile.

Too quick.

Her motion isn’t restricted by fabric.

Covered in steel instead of elevated at the heel,

What is she really looking for?

To be broken at the wheel?


She buys her own meal,

Awaiting the repeal,

Of sanctions against her

That clearly reveal

That besides not being fair of face

This ghastly harpy must not know her place.

Social grace?

No sire

No escort

No chevalier

No chaperon

No husband

Note even a lover or paramour

She complicates our system.

And what for?

The same space as an innocent?

The purity of a sweet virgin?

The sacred place of mother?

The throne of the crone?

At the shrine of the divine.

When will you understand?

You do not fit.

Into any of the roles for your kind that we have writ.

Submit to your destiny.

To one, or to many.

To be quick-witted and act upon the intuited,

Your clamouring is meaningless,

Like the winds in the trees

And the hum of the bees.

You are of a different species.

It is beyond us to understand you.

So you have two choices:

You conform, or we forget you.


Reds and browns,

Yellows and ochres

Blend together as I paint a portrait of my face

Etched with my thoughts and feelings

My ups and downs,

The Great Spirit, my anchor.

I won’t forget my face, as I make my own place,

The peculiarities of my race,

Our memories like delicately woven lace.

My body marks me: Distinct and Apart

But my immortal soul flows in a river

Of like souls and boundless spirit,


Rushing forth with a power that I fought to recover.

To be is a divine art

And so I learned that freedom is by no means free.

And determined, verily, by little old me.

21st. December, 2015


~ by louella001 on December 22, 2015.

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