Woman

To him, I am just a piece of meat,

a champion's boast,

a sacred land conquered,

a name added to a list

that is expected to be long

while mine is expected

to be nonexistent.

I know I am more,

but expected to act

as though I am not.

I cannot be

a scholar,

a writer,

a teacher,

a healer,

an activist,

a woman.

I am expected to be

slut,

mother,

filthy,

clean,

maid,

wife,

woman.

Eye candy

with artificial colors.

Dessert platter

with artificial flavorings.

Appliance

with artificial obedience.

Desired,

but not desiring.

Seen,

but not heard.

Consumed,

but not valued.

Creator—

but never source.

I must be

everything

he expects me to be,

and everything

I am not.

Because to him

I am just a piece of meat—

until I begin

to speak,

to think,

to plan,

to enjoy,

to thrive,

to live—

for me.

Because then

I have agency—

but agency

gets in the way.

Because then

I have rights—

but rights

get in the way.

Because then

I am a life

that matters—

but my life

gets in the way.

Never can I be

the thing I wish most

to be:

A

Woman

In

Total

Control of

Herself.

_________________

This poem is about experiences shared by women across cultures, generations, and history. It is about the difference between womanhood as a role imposed upon women and womanhood as an identity freely lived.

Throughout history, women have been scholars, writers, teachers, artists, leaders, healers, activists, inventors, and creators. From the earliest known named author, Enheduanna, to generations of women who fought for education, voting rights, legal recognition, and social change, the historical record is filled with women who refused to be confined to the roles assigned to them. Many of the expectations placed upon women today are inherited from older social systems that valued obedience over autonomy and conformity over individuality.

The world we hope to live in is not a distant future. We are building it now. Every generation pushes a little further than the one before it. Because progress is rarely comfortable, and all things meant to endure are tested.

The final line, "A Woman In Total Control of Herself," is inspired by Devon Cole's song W.I.T.C.H.