I still haven’t figured out what a strong woman is.
What does she feel like?
How does she walk; how does she laugh?
Are her eyes sharp with awareness? Do they ever show sadness when she smiles?
Has she ridden the bus with tears on her cheeks?
Does she ever snap back to wanton remarks about her body?
To tactless but innocent advances, because
she is vulnerable and feels secure in the small amount of strength this brings?
Does she sometimes hate all men because it’s easier?
Because she’s known immaturity, lies and disrespect of a few veiled by kind eyes and smart jokes?
Because sometimes she doesn’t believe she deserves better.
Because sometimes she doesn’t have the courage to search for better.
Has she known low self-esteem?
But now shakes her head at that old self,
that old self that holds inside the pain,
the residual pain that can still flair up in that new self?
Yes, she knows all this.
But she walks on, equally vulnerable and dedicated.
She knows strength, but is learning to be stronger.
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