to be a woman

to be a woman is to perform for their warmth as she soaks in the storm.

the bright yellow light shining over her red dress,
painting it a sunset orange
her foot bleeding underneath
that dainty disastrous four-inch heel,

her heart bleeding from the rotten core of her being
that may never heal

yet glamorous as ever
eyes wide as ever
hair neat as never
the fancy of every man in vicinity
oh god imagine the pressure

to be a woman is to be a whore
or be told that you're not enough, never whole
like her only goal is to dress up like a china doll
and fall, waiting for the man to pick her up

to be sitting on the big blue stage unmoving
yet entertaining and enchanting
she must please those men with her doll-like face
she must look at them with a childlike gaze
for the beauty of youth leaves them in a daze

to be a woman is to be pure
as blank as a white canvas waiting to be colored
untouched, unmoved until he comes along
and shakes her world down
painting her in dull; dark; bright
infinite shades of hue
lighting up her dim life with his fire
like it is all she ever wanted

yet she lays awake soothing the burns
while the bed remains cold at midnight
because "she is just too blue-nosed"
"too frail". "too old".
the pretty prostitute he'd rather hold

to be a woman is to play a role
a mother, a sister, a maid, a mistress
made to adhere and to devote
and to row the boat down the stream
while trying to ensure nobody screams
except for her body and her mind to be released