Day Eight

Today a poem. Do you ever feel like men don’t really know who you are? You are a sex object, or a figure of scorn? I know I’ve felt that a lot of times. So I wrote a poem.

NAME

 I have a name.
It is not Honey.
It is not Sweetie Pie.
It is not Sunshine.
I have a name.
Use it.

I have a life.
It is not as a mother.
It is not as a wife.
It is not as a sister.
It is not as a maid or a cook.
It is as me.

I have a brain.
It is not a ‘girl’ brain.
It is not a ‘fluffy’ brain.
It is not a ‘soft’ brain.
It is not a ‘nurturing’ brain.
It is a thinking brain.

I have a face.
It is not covered in make-up.
It is not smiling.
It is not there to brighten your world.
It is there to hold my glasses.
It also holds my teeth.

I do not exist for you.
I exist for me.
I may be a mother, or a wife.
If I so choose.
That is not all that I am.
I am a person.