Tag: womanhood

Womanhood Don’t Begin in Menstrual Cycles

Yecheilyah-72dpi-1500x2000-e-bookIs a collection of poems and inspirational quotes that focuses on womanhood. Scheduled for release at the end of this month, this book combines poetry with the strength of true womanhood. It will also feature an audio book of a selection of pieces. It will be available as an e-book as well as in print. I will also present opportunities for free copies to be given in exchange for a review. Details on that coming soon.

From Girlhood to Womanhood

When I got my first menstrual cycle at thirteen, I remember everyone being very excited. I remember them hugging me and explaining things I did not wholly understand. I was not very excited, but they were. This was obviously a very important part of my life that the adult women before me had apparently made clear. “Why was everyone so happy about this?”  I thought.

Today, the menstrual cycle is no longer symbolic of the great “Welcome to Womanhood” or “Rite of Passage” as it once was. Women are not excited to speak about it. They may feel it exposes the “nastiness” of too much information. And in most extreme cases, many young women do not understand what it is. What has degraded a woman’s transition from girlhood to womanhood? We do know one thing for sure: the maturity of a young woman’s mind yesterday as compared to today. It seems that at some point in our history, the growth of our little girls, especially within the black community, has depended so much on the shape of the body, that it has stumped mental growth. Young women walk around here today and they think turning eighteen or twenty-one automatically gives them a right to womanhood, although the cultivation of their mind is stuck in childhood. Many of them do not understand that womanhood is not just the outer appearance of what makes up a female. It is not breast, booty, vagina and hips, and it does not arrive necessarily with age. Though with age comes wisdom, not everyone who is of age is wise, and as such not even age itself can alone define womanhood. For this reason we cannot assume, for today’s woman, that her womanhood began the moment she bled her first menstrual cycle.

These Women

these women

Insolent
like heavy shoulders
hard to bear
weight refusing to be comforted
contemptuous
a rubbed off gentleness
like candy wore off the sugar
like sugar wore off the sweet
when they pass by us on the street
an invisible burden hangs from the creases of their jeans
like expectation scratching it’s nails against the concrete
don’t get this wrong
they’re not bad women
though the accusations scream for merciless understanding
of their calling
these women
are taught compassion in the proverb of scripture
they fight a constant sin but no
they’re not women without hope
women not rotten down to the core
just women whose wombs have never bore.

She Rebels

Lucas-Namuramba-Ebony-Queen

Soft kisses and warm hugs is what she gets from men.
Hot dates and perfume smells, but from truth she rebels.
An emotional roller coaster ride he takes her…
every so often they visit this amusement park.
And she wants to cringe when he grabs hold of her but instead of listening to herself
she listens to her heart.
Unwanted lips kissing her face and she takes it all in stride
afraid to admit her mistakes because of her pride.
Soft kisses turn into sloppy kisses
and warm hugs turn into feelings so hard and cold you’d think they were milk mugs.
Hot dates she no longer wants to take
but her financial status is at stake.
No more Christian Dior, Stephanie Taylor or Dolce Gabbana because she’s known on the streets as being his hottest baby mama
so she rebels.
Refusing to follow directions like a sterile sperm cell alone she cannot fertilize
this she soon realize
so she turns back to what she often refers to as hell.
She can’t understand what has happened to the warm hugs and innocent smells, yet she rebels.
He has painted her face with his fist,
multicolor on its sides
Sharpening his nails to cut her thighs’ and insides
but she laughs it off in stride
afraid to admit her mistakes because of her pride.
Excuses upon excuses she is determined to sell, so she rebels.
Convinced this is the last time she
runs to the nearest store praying her favorite make-up is on sale.
But she looks good though!
Driving his Lamborghini
shades on windows down, saying to herself “I know you see me!”
Blasting Jay-Z she agrees, “I can’t leave this alone the game needs me!”
So she endures the nightly screams of “Please don’t beat me!”
Attempting to open her eyes, Truth tries but she refuses to see.
Months and months have passed, and she’s lying in a place filled with screams and death mail.
Truth’s flowers she now wants to smell but her obituary has come too early,
so to the dirt,
she Rebels.

Princess

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Didn’t know the whole world was mine…my princess self….

didn’t know bout this crown on my head,

just death and pain till the winds got tired of blowing on me….

said it was time for the branch to be lifting my chin from the ground so lest I could see what the sky looks like…

held me in his arms like orange autumns in September…

fresh air, cool and breezy like.

Never Having Been a Girl

This poem is based on a true story. A sista I know  requested I write a poem based on her childhood. And after hearing her testimony, this is the result.

Waiting_by_prettylilly
Silence lingers on every street corner of her heart
surrounded by the sounds of her own heartbeat
the only child
who knew that loneliness could be so loud?
Never remembering ever being a girl
womanhood emerging from her mother’s womb
responsibilities following her home wrapped in soft blankets and warm booties
yet infancy is kicked off too soon
removed
and replaced with scavenger instincts
tearing away at empty cupboards
hope falling asleep like heroine nods
quickly replaced with the tears of a three year old
silence tearing away at the soft eardrums of a toddler’s pride
never remembering ever being a girl
Quick paces of little feet turned nine
gotta get the cigarettes on time
crowded streets
little feet
unknown eyes that are watching me
(at least somebody’s watching me)
careful now these little feet
having never been a girl
Twelve times twelve,
twelve arrives
sadness in mommies cancer eyes
watch him do it and do it right
gotta give the medicine exactly right
the internal cries of that youthful voice (never really having been young)
somebody please tell me,
where is mommies tongue?
gotta carry cause mommies gone
will someone sing her daughters song?
The woman with the pink ribbons in her curls
the woman never having been a girl
Restaurants to wash myself
weed and drinks cause I watch myself
who cares for cute sinks when nothings left
seems like childhood just up and left
me sitting beside myself
empty benches now colored with the stench of my pain
smelly armpits reach out to beg for change
while relatives sit at home and count my change
whose willing to see this woman change?
Never having been a girl
Hustle proved its source of love
where does an instant woman find true love?
inside the arms of an abusive man she seeks her refuge from lazy hands
money giving light to dark places
apartment buildings giving substance to misplacement’s
where
where has it gone? My love? Where’s your part?
where oh where have you hidden my heart?
Numbers fade away like living water upon dirty dishes
this daughter of mine the result of these stitches
Entering the world as if she owns it!
Gotta hope another woman has not entered this world
praying my first child has the chance to at least,
just be
a girl.