Woman


I still remember the first look
Some man he was, much older than I.
I still remember the first touch
A boy he was, so young, yet so sly.
And I remember the very first fear I felt
So much that he made me cry.
I understood what it was to be a woman
Before I could even try.

And yet, I have been lucky.

I have not been harassed, mishandled, hurt.
Nor my blood spilled,
My throat bruised,
My skin burnt.
Yet inside I ache from enduring such wrongs,
Imposed though we are one-half the world strong.

But what of fair wages, equality, control of our bodies?
Such progress! They tell us, as if these were hobbies.

I fear it will all come to nought. Unless Man comes to see,
What "Woman" it means to be. What it means to be--
You. Me. Us. All of Us.
We.
And what We could Be.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem