Womanhood Poem by Gracie Michard

I am neither a witch
nor a queen nor a wolf.
I do not have blood
trickling down my chin
or fangs sticking out from
under crimson red lips.

I will not kill you in cold
blood or make you wish
I had gone and done so-
I am not cruel or unforgiving,
nor am I seeking vengeance.

The poets talk of women with
honey poison in their voices,
and of gentle hands that
also bring curses down
upon those who have
done wrong against them.

They talk about revenge,
and of feminine aggression,
and about how karma has
a little girl's timid stature.

But what about the
ones who don't bite?
What about the women
who sit and brim with
anger that they do not
understand nor give in to?

What about the
ladies-in-waiting that
sit by while the king barks
orders and the queen cries?

What about the all
of the young daughters,
the ones with shaky
voices and tears in their
eyes, the ones with hearts
that are begging to be
forgiven for the crimes
of their foremothers?

We talk of the ones
who make their way
to the top, but we do not
mention the ones they
had to stomp on to
climb their way up there.

Not every woman can be Helen of Troy.
Some of us have to be Iphigenia.

It's true, that the mark of
womanhood is having
blood run through your
cities and your streets.

The only difference is
whether or not the blood
happens to be your own.