The African Woman.

How does it feel
To put on shoes you didn't even want in the first place?
To have a price tag over your head
Like you're some good to be bartered for
How does it feel
To have hands that should only be used to carry hot pots
And a tongue only for tasting scalding soup

My mum says it's the way of tradition
For the woman must learn her place
Mining eba and good soup
With only two hundred naira as a tool

How does it feel to weave words into pieces of steel
Strong enough to tear away the holds of ignorance
Only to swallow them whole
Cause they're not welcome anywhere that is not the kitchen?

How does it feel to be a Superhero
Birthing the miracle that is Man
And yet treated basely
After all, you're nothing more than the price that was paid for you

I met a woman once
And her hands could do more than carry
For she managed to pull me into worlds unknown
And reshaped my thoughts, sculptures I didn't know could exist
Another woman opened my ears up to galaxies
Coaxing me to dance to the tunes her vocal cords produced
I've met so many women since then,
And I can't wait to find out
What other miracles they'd show the world
If only we stopped to listen

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