Woman
When you are younger, you are brave.
You’re happy and kind and saved.
Saved from the wave of cruelty and injustice.
The way people talk behind your back.
When you look in the mirror, and all you see is rage.
Why is it that girls have to be women?
And women have to be girls?
We burn and stab and kill again.
Until there’s nothing but blood on our hands.
Why is it that we have to be kind when the world is so cruel?
They push us down until there’s dirt on our hands and grime in our nails.
Why is it that when we cry, we’re left apart?
But when we talk, it’s called assault.
We break and break and break again.
Until we’re left with the sins in our glands.
You wash and wash and wash again.
But the blood still sticks to your pretty hands.
So I must ask, are you okay now that you stand alone in land?
So dark and unpleasant that you might understand.
We are so mighty at times, and still, we are a piece of sand.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
