Womanhood
Who am I? She asked herself. Just a pretty face? She hated that. She wanted to be more. Her face, her clothes, her body. Was all that they saw. But what about her wonderful mind? How she'd love to show that to someone. Is that someone out there? She wonders. In that hope she puts her thoughts out. Crazy. Stubborn. Opinionated. Is all they said. She speaks and she's looked at with wonder. Sometimes even dislike. But at times she doesn't want to. It takes all her might. She has thoughts. Is someone listening? She has opinions. Does anyone care? Or is this what we call womanhood? Is it meant to be despair?