Womanhood Is You
A Poem
Do not shrink yourself
to fit the pages of someone else’s story,
where the margins press tight
and your name fades under their ink.
Do not wear their version of womanhood —
a dress that stiffens your breath,
a crown that tilts with the weight of their gaze,
a mirror that bends you into someone unrecognizable.
Womanhood isn’t their hymn,
not their laws carved in stone,
not the road they map for you
to lead you where they think you belong.
It’s the quiet fire in your chest,
burning steady on the coldest nights.
It’s the rhythm in your walk,
the strength in your voice
when you say,
I am here. I am whole. I am enough.
Womanhood is the dirt beneath your feet,
the endless sky above your dreams,
the fierce waves coursing through your veins.
It’s the freedom to stumble,
to rise, to cry, to rage,
and still be everything.
Womanhood isn’t theirs to define.
It’s you —
growing, shifting, unyielding,
becoming more than anyone imagined.
For more stories about women, their rightful place in the scheme of things, and male-female relationships, follow Fourth Wave. Have you got a story or poem that focuses on women or other disempowered groups? Submit to the Wave!
