the weight of a pen

i want to write about everything.

everything and nothing,

all one and the same.

about sunflowers, opening to the sun.

swaying back and forth, following the light through the day.

about dreams, leaking from my eyes like tears.

wishes that will never come true.

about pain, scars in my skin that will never heal

cuts in my heart that the world pours salt into.

about waves, tsunami strong that submerge me

a deep ache no medicine can subdue.

about injustice and betrayal,

and the need to fix it all.

the pressure that holds us down as the world throws its problems at our feet.

us. the children. the young adults they fear.

we are suddenly strong and responsable when they need someone else to blame.

we are suddenly both the enemy and the cure for a problem we didnt create.

for a desolate future we dont deserve.

before i was born, i was given a gift.

a curse of sorts.

to listen and not speak.

to love without being loved.

to smile, nod, laugh, and wave and never crack.

to always forgive no matter how much i am hurt.

because women are kind, gentle, forgiving, loving, silent.

just because i am kind does not mean i will forgive you.

just because i am gentle does not mean my knives are blunt.

just because i am forgiving does not mean i will forget.

just because i am loving does not mean i will love you.

just because i am silent does not mean i have nothing to say.

when the women of history are blurred from view,

when the career paths open to you still entail discrimination in the contract,

when you sit and listen to the men around you laugh at your attempts to win rights,

when you "cant possibly understand something" because you are a woman,

when you catch yourself telling your sister to just ignore the boys who are annoying her,

when she shouldnt have to put up with that,

when you realize that women will only have voted for 100 years next year-

100 years out of the whole expanse of history-

when you discover that you have been assaulted, used, taken advantage of, and discarded,

when you are not believed,

when you know, no matter how hard you work or what position you have, you will still make less money than a man,

when you have to fight to be recognized as equal to a man in the very constitution of your country

and live with knowing that is one state away from ratification,

when the future of your sex rests on your shoulders,

when you are blamed for every issue in the world,

only then do you have the right to argue against me.

only then can you say that you understand.

only then can you propose how to handle women's issues better than a woman.

yes, i am a woman.

not just a womb, wife, daughter, mother, or sister.

call me names, i dont care.

i fight for my right to be human,

to be seen.

and all the worlds i pen,

all the paper i drench in tears and emotions,

will never amount to any change without recognition.

the words i scream are nothing unless a man approves them and allows them to enter the minds of the world.

all of the things i wish to write,

all my dreams,

i will keep writing my words in hopes that someone will read them.

i will write a book, one more piece of history for them to fight.

as i paint these pages in the ink blood of my heart.

This poem is about: 
My community
My country

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