To be a woman is to perform. What does it mean?
Does it have to do with the household chores,
The endless pattern of house and care?
Does it have to do with carrying a child in a grown woman’s body,
The mass of life and love in every step of the way?
Does it have to do with serving your husband because you’re his wife,
to live in the expectation of others and the bounded vows?
Or does it have to do with existence because we were born a woman,
An individuality shaped by society’s scrutiny?
Can it be said that a woman is way beyond those sayings?
We are more than what they say,
That gives hope and love every day.
The strength and sacrifices for completing the puzzled house.
The everyday struggle for a man’s child.
The every step on a road that was made by a man,
Whereas these roads immensity crash to our feet.
We see and hear to share the depths of our being.
We are the enormity of these prideful men.
They can never dictate what we are as a woman.
To be a woman is to perform, but not as a role assigned.
It is to dance in green grass beside the ocean’s swash.
To be a woman is to live, to love, to fight.
To be a woman is to be your light.
I’m a woman of my own.