She breaths the air of stereotype

as she mounts the mountain of her life.

Walking on broken glass,

listening to others' cynical laughs,

she still manages to ascend.

Distant from inclusion,

and nearby exclusion,

she glowers up at the sky and opens her mouth,

but not a sound flew out.

Enervated of her mountain

and the endless infliction of oppression,

she yearns for an end to her climb,

like a dry, lone rose yearning for water.

Before admitting defeat,

she gaze up at the sky once again,

and that's when resistance struck that woman.

She discerns her role in the world and her uniqueness,

for she is God's masterpiece.

Like a potter, He molded and made her,

solely from a man's rib.

She breaths again,

this time, air of acceptance,

for this woman,

has found her lost voice.