How exactly can I call myself a woman?

(I won't take this down because it's where I was at the time, but while a lot of this is true, it doesn't make me any less of a woman. How silly I was.  ;) )


How exactly can I call myself a woman?

I've always disliked that word when pertaining to myself. A woman can put on make-up and do her hair and not look like a deranged whore clown.

A woman doesn't have the fashion sense of a teenage boy mixed with a 7yo girl with mismatched Avengers socks, jeans, hoodie, and barrettes from the girl's section.

A woman can cook all the things, and more than that, she enjoys it. A woman cleans her house with gusto. Bitch, please. If it doesn't include guacamole or chili I don't like cooking it and cleaning? Fuuuck!

A woman doesn't prefer getting muddy over manicures. A woman doesn't prefer smores and campfires over wine and room service.

A woman can trust her intuition. 100%. Always. Period. Her gut knows. Like mine. It knows. Without a doubt. It knows that the sun will eventually whisper my name on my neck and it's rays will entangle in my hair. That the secrets of its core will be safeguarded in my veins... it knows this... but how can that be true when that position is already filled?

A woman always knows? Either that phrase is broken or I am. 

How exactly can I call myself a woman?


#10minutepoetry #poetry #poet #