I am writing this poem for women who have purple flowers blooming on their skin.
For women who have gardens of bruises growing across their limbs.
For women whose mouths are always filled with the taste of warm metal.
I am writing this poem for women whose bodies have been broken into.
For women have had their innocence stolen from between their legs.
For women who have been reduced to shattered windows and fractured floors.
I am writing this poem for women who have been robbed of their voices.
For women who have had their opinions muffled.
For women whose words have been snatched by hands that were forced down their throats.
I am writing this poem for women who believe that they have curses flowing down their legs.
For women whose spirits are not stained with blood, but with shame.
For women who are made to think that what is natural is disgusting.
I am writing this poem for women who are turned from people into victims.
For women who are made to feel like strangers in their own skins.
For women who are told that their softness makes them weak.
I AM WRITING THIS POEM FOR WOMEN EVERYWHERE.
I will cry for them until the oceans in my eyes have run dry.
I will scream for them until my vocal cords have snapped.
But I will never stop writing for them.
I will reach into my soul.
Find the strength in the hollow of my stomach.
Write until my fingers are bloody and my knuckles have cracked.
And then I will write some more.
Because my words have the power that I never will.
About the author:
Humairaa Mayet is incredibly passionate about issues of social justice and strives to make a difference in the world through as many avenues as possible. She spends her days listening to music, cooking and baking, attending protests, and raising her plants.