Is it the crown of hair upon her head that makes her a woman?
The tender touch of her palm that brings ease to men
Possibly the floral prints that hug her curves exude femininity
Does commanding a room when you enter make you a Queen?
Can that stare of yours silence a crowd?
The strength of tribal queens dwelling inside you
surely their palms were not tender
yet calloused from tending field and house
contributing to the work of men
For hours their presence in a room was ignored
No stares from weary eyes, come and go with heads bowed
Crowns contrived of rags, covering ebony plaits
Did this make her less of a woman?
Not privy to the glare of lustful eyes
Duties fulfilled, belly swelled
Birthing a generation gives pride?
The bond between mother and child
Unspoken ties
First touch, first lessons, first love.
nourishment from the bosom
womanly homage?
Floral prints hugging curves that entice male eyes
paint encumbers her face, covers the lies
Highlighted locs draped to her narrow waist
She has capture the secret to femininity
hiding your feelings of insecurity, in a selfie.
The essence of beauty
The strength of many
All that is woman
All that is you
All that is me
