Post by Draco Malfoy on Jun 20, 2015 12:17:31 GMT -5
This is a piece I wrote & performed which did really well in competitions.
I am a Woman
by Frankie Wilson
When I look into the mirror I see a warrior staring back at me.
She is strong and she is fierce,
she is kind and she is passionate.
Her voice is loud and commanding, gentle and soothing.
She stands tall and mighty,
short and sturdy.
Her hands are made for helping, her words are shaped to inspire.
Her ears are always open,
and her mind is always there.
Within her eyes I see her wisdom, and within their depths lies her faith.
Her cheeks burn with fire,
her skin glows with joy.
Her body speaks of the woman she is, the past she left behind her, and the future she has yet to meet.
Within her posture I see her strength, the determination with her head held high.
Her spine shows her refusal to bend,
her legs her refusal to fall.
Her arms are wings opened wide, ready to soar across the sky.
I can see how far she can go if she tries.
I notice her flaws,
and catch her scars.
The marks upon her skin, the ones deep beneath.
They are there
and they are bold, as much of the warrior as everything else.
As I look in the mirror I smile at what I see. As I look in the mirror I can only see me.
Unfortunately not everyone sees the same thing.
They look at me and walk on by.
I am unnoticeable
and unimportant, my presence does not matter.
I am known when they’re forced to look at me.
Even then, I am invisible.
My words slip through empty ears,
my voice touches frozen hearts.
Once my brief moment is done they brush me aside,
as I’m nothing more than a bothersome fly.
When they do notice me, it is not for who I am.
They see me when they want me,
as if I were a toy.
Remembered when useful, tossed aside when they’re done.
In those moments they see me as something to own.
Possibly a pet to control,
expected to sit down and obey.
What is wanted to bee seen is seen
and everything that matters doesn’t exist.
I am not supposed to think
other than the thoughts that were placed inside of me since birth.
To them, all I should do is sit there and look pretty.
What else am I good for?
What I think is not important,
and my words hold no meaning.
My emotions are fickle, and my will must be broken.
I may only speak when spoken to,
and may not talk when interrupted.
What they see is an empty little girl waiting to be taken control of.
They do not see me for the warrior I am, the survivor who I’ve become.
After all, for them, I am just another woman
living in a man’s world.