To everyone who has ever asked me to “man up”:

please,

take another fucking look at me.

I am all woman,
all double-x,
all lower-your-voice,
all cover-yourself,
all flash-a-smile,
be delicate,
all survival,
survival,
all surviving,
all fight.

In my conditioned silence all I had been
fighting
for years
is my own instinct.

Every feeling of inferiority planted underneath
my skin.

But I will no longer be victim to this.

I will no longer be subjected to the
sickening degradation of my sex.

I am more than this.

I am centuries of women being beaten up
and burnt at the stakes,
the silent screams held behind their
clenched teeth,
I am the black and blue circles on their
covered faces,
the reincarnation of every girl buried
before ever being able to breathe,

I am the woman I will teach my daughter to be
and I too, promise to not be silenced.

Will not have my gender dragged through the
mud in the name of their righteousness.

We know we are more than this.

But the men in my country have thrown us into open
graves.

Like their ancestors before them, they have
found it best to stifle our whimpers before
they grew into screams.

But I have been clawing my way out of dirt
for so long and I will not rest until I feel
the sun on my face again,

until I am standing on the same steady ground
that they parade on so full of feigned piety.

I am coming back for all the rights that were
dragged away from me.

Before you tell me to “man up”,

know that my womanhood has been stolen away
from me.

Has been turned into something
so perverse,
so wrung with evil,

I had spent years wishing I wasn’t so unholy,

but I’m taking it back.

I do not wish to be anything other than what
I am,

so believe me when I tell you that I will never
“man” up.

I will reclaim the force of my gender,

Realize the holiness of my existence,
rekindle the ashen fires of my passions.

I am a woman reclaiming the sacredness of the
disgraced term

“woman”.

So the next time you want to remind me of my strength,
tell me of our history. Of the women who have waged wars
against all this ignorance before me.

The next time you want to remind me of my strength,

don’t you dare tell me to “man up”.

Just remind me that:

I am all woman,
all double-x, all oestrogen,

I am a force to be reckoned with,
a movement within myself,

all woman,
all power,
all power,
all power.

1.

The first time you are shown our family tree,
know that you are not made of roots. Know
that you are not a tree trunk held in place
by the memory of your ancestors. And even if at
times you feel their anger coursing through your
blood, know that we all have monsters in the
knots of our chromosomes,

but you, darling, are not defined by the demons
in your DNA.

2.

The first time you awaken to blushing sheets,
know that there is a battle wound between your
legs that will not scar for decades to come
and every twenty-eight days, you will be reminded of
everything you lost in this war you did not wage,

but my darling, know that you will always be my
brave little warrior and that I pray that you
find your peace before the blood dries up.

3.

The first time your heart takes up a task other
than pumping blood, know that it is normal to
melt at the mention of someone’s name, that it is
okay to want to stitch your skin to the one you love,
that falling can sometimes build instead of break you,
and even if you end up in pieces,

my darling, know that breathing love out into the air,
however selfishly, is never something to be regretted.

4.

The first time you find yourself breaking at 2:47 am,
looking for words that have not yet been invented,
know that you got that from your mother,

and child, the only monster under your skin that
you will never be able to fight is poetry.

5.

The first time you find yourself breaking at 2:47 am,
longing for pieces of yourself you left in notebooks,
know that writing is all about shedding your skin until
you are see-through,

and darling, I know being transparent hurts, I know how
much it aches to rip your skin apart and stick your veins
on paper for the world to see,

I know it wears you out. But I got it from my mother, too,
and darling, know that I wouldn’t know how to rid
you of it either.

6.

The first time you find yourself breaking at 2:47 am,
know that it is my fault.

7.

The first time you find yourself breaking at 2:47 am,
find a pen. Spill it out.

8.

The first time you find yourself breaking at 2:47 am,
put yourself back together again and make me proud.

9.

The first time you find yourself breaking at 2:47 am
and I’ve already gone,

find me in your words.

Resuscitate me with your ink.

Know that I am sleeping on every page of every notebook
you own, and my darling,

even in my nonexistence, you are still my favorite poem.

To my former lovers I want to say:

I take it back.

From the
love letters and
the notes scribbled on napkins to
every syllable I have ever uttered,
from the
stolen glances and
the hands held under tables,
to the kisses raw with lust,

this is me officially dissolving

            everything.

Even when my hands
were held to my beating
heart and every
word I spoke dripped with
honesty – know that I
might have thought I
meant it then

but I know
now that my tongue has
been dabbling in dying
dialects of love and has
only tasted its true origin
sixty-six days ago.

So I take it all back.

And to you I will say:

Lover,

I am a warrior.
The natural state of my fists
has always been clenched
and ready. My skin has always
been black and blue with
disenchantment. I am the
soldier and the battleground,

but for sixty-six days now,
there has been no war inside
my chest, no bickering
of the organs –
no head against heart;

I belong
peacefully
to you.

And my hands,

Lover,

my hands are no longer discouraged
hearts held up before my eyes
ready to throw the first punch,

you have grown Sunflower fields
on my lifelines so my arms are
always outstretched and my palms

are always open
searching
for your Light.