Young Writers Society

I wanna thank @EllieMae for giving me the confidence to post this poem. She read it before anyone, and I'm so glad she did because the feedback was amazing and convinced me to post it. So here we are. <3 Thanks girl!

Anyways,


Text Version:

Men say our bodies are vessels meant to cradle life, shaped to nurture and to give,
as if our worth is measured by the extent to which we can bend, break, and offer ourselves—
piece by piece, until nothing remains but a hollow shell.
We are taught to hide our smiles, to put on our masks, and hide our pain.

“Fix your face.”
“Why do you make everything so damn difficult?”
“Isn’t it in your nature to care? To love?”

We are taught to lack worthiness in order to stand shoulder to shoulder with men, as if our
rightful place is always one step behind. We always come second. Have you realized that?
They want to lower our voices. Because to them, if we speak, we could cause a war;
the very words that come out of our mouths are seen as weapons, feared and avoided.

“You’re too emotional, too fragile.”
“You’re not enough; not strong, and definitely not brave.”
“Know your place.”

Men say that we are beautiful when we’re small; when we make ourselves less;
when we don’t take up space. We exist only as reflections of their own desires,
polished and pleasing, shaped to their liking. So, we cook the meals they eat, and swallow the pills they give us. We let the tablet travel through our intestines until it reaches our stomachs, neutralizing us.

But what happens when the pill wears off?
When the fire reignites, when the voices in our heads—the ones they told us to suppress—
begin to scream? What happens when we refuse to shrink any longer; when we refuse to be small?
What happens when we tear off the masks they sewed onto our faces and show our true selves?

“You’re too loud.”
“Grow up.”
“You’re not what I wanted.”

What happens when we realize our worth—
not in their eyes, but in our own? When we take up space unapologetically, demanding room to breathe,
to grow, to exist in a world that tried to suffocate us?
You fear me because I’m not the woman you wanted me to be, right?

"You’re too independent."
"You’re too difficult."
"Why can’t you just be like her?"

But we are not “her.” We are ourselves, complete and whole.
What if feeling complete is a distant dream? And maybe, after all the battles fought,
we start to wonder if they were right; if we are too much, if we are too difficult.
What if, in the end, we become exactly what they wanted—

because we no longer have the strength to prove them wrong?

Hai :3

Oh my gosh, this poem is incredible!! You’ve woven together such a profound narrative about womanhood, power, and the constant fight to reclaim space and identity in a world that tries to strip it away. The way you tackle this battle, between what society expects and what women are, is so powerful and raw, and you express it with such an intense, burning clarity. I personally write a lot about womanhood because I think it's the most beautiful thing ever.

Starting with the idea of women’s bodies being vessels and cradles for life ~~ this metaphor sets the tone immediately!! It’s like you’re exposing the expectations society places on women as if that’s all they are. The way you connect that to “bending, breaking, and offering” is devastating. You can feel the weight of those expectations. I feel it down my spine!! The imagery of becoming a “hollow shell” is chilling and it perfectly captures the feeling of being emptied out by the world’s demands.

So, we cook the meals they eat, and swallow the pills they give us. We let the tablet travel through our intestines until it reaches our stomachs, neutralizing us.

But we are not “her.” We are ourselves, complete and whole.

Why did this piece hit so hard? Oml where do I start? "We are taught to hide our smiles, to put on our masks, and to hide our pain." This was the first part to catch my attention. Most women are taught to sit, smile, and look pretty. All of these phrases are heard throughout a woman's life. Each is as degrading, if not, more degrading than the last. We are not all poster wives!! Let us women be ourselves. We are not your playthings! We are people too. Treat us like it.

I love this piece, as it resonates with women all over. It's wonderful, good job. <3

gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous