Her hatred of her body, no matter the size?
The way she looks at herself with disdain?
She runs her hands over her skin, and feel this sinking ick feeling.
No matter the size, she still should lose some weight.
What makes a woman?
The products on her face?
The way she carefully creates a masterpiece every morning.
The burning of her hair for the perfect curl.
The tweezing, plucking, popping, blocking, shaving, waxing, unending work of it all.
What makes a woman?
Is it the sexual assault she has endured?
Knowing her screaming wasn't enough to stir the neighbors into helping her.
Knowing that even the words "sexual assault" covers up the reality of her rape.
The continual shame she carries when even thinking about men & sex. Every time.
What makes a woman?
Is it her ability to marry? Birth?
Keep a man, and settle down. Keep the perfect home. Cook the perfect meals.
Smile politely as he tells her he loves another.
Keep the betrayal inside.
What makes a woman?
The man that she will never have?
The way she yearns to be with him?
Is it the catching of his eye, maybe this time, will make him fall in love with her?
She knows she isn't good enough.
What makes a woman?
All these make this woman.
All these things break this woman.
All these things weigh on this woman, daily, every moment.
I am this woman.
