Womanhood
By Juwairiyya Eissa
By Juwairiyya Eissa
Breathing.
Looking down.
Holding my tongue.
You would think
that would make a woman safe from criticism.
It doesn’t.
Still breathing.
Making eye contact.
Speaking my mind.
I have become an emotional torture
for those around.
At least I can speak my truths now.
When I’m silent,
I’m unendurable for having no opinion.
When I’m not,
I’m too dogmatic
and as emotional as a woman could get.
When I dress up,
I’m asking for the attention all around
as I’m promiscuous.
When I don’t,
I’m lazy and unclean,
yet still receiving shouts I’d rather not.
Even if I’m surrounded by my closest male friends,
they will not blink twice to taunt and judge me
as if my existence
is only just an amusement.
It says enough
that I can’t respond back
with an equally deliberate “statement,”
labeled as a joke,
as I will be the one suddenly crossing the line.
They will say
I have become too agitated and emotional.
So I once again bite my tongue
and swallow tears
as to not be put in the strangling spotlight again.
I appear to be unbearable
in any way or form
I shape myself to be.
So why restrain myself?
I could let everyone feel
the burning intensity of my emotions
they have forced me to live through.
Sadly, I can’t.
As it’s better to be judged
about the little things
breaking you slowly into pieces
than your whole womanhood
you will spend a lifetime with.