An ode to women’s bodies
We are the creators, the nurturers, and the destroyers. We are uncontainable, untamable, and unbreakable. We are the beautiful, the ugly, the gracious, the ferocious, and everything in between and beyond.
We put the ‘super’ in Superwoman and the ‘wonder’ in Wonder Woman.
The anatomy of a woman was designed to bear. Bear life. Bear love. Bear beauty. Bear pain. Bear injustice. Bear the weight of the world.
Our hearts hold more hurt than they can carry. They may be broken, but they still beat just fine. Our hearts hold an ocean of love, but once that ocean has been poisoned with hate, it can drown everyone who dares touch our shores.
At times, our breasts feel like weights we carry upon our chests, holding us down as we try to escape the clutches of lustful monsters. At times, our breasts feel like accessories to an unforgivable crime we have committed by the virtue of being born as women, so we try to hide them away from the world behind tight, uncomfortable cloth cages, smothering them. Our breasts are inappropriate content. Our breasts are banned, banished, shamed, and blamed.
Our breasts can start a scandal, a war, a revolution.
Our arms pick up those who push us down. Our arms hold those who have let us go. Our arms embrace those who shun us. Our arms make, break, slave, and liberate.
Our hands were only taught to give but not to take. Our hands were taught to hold on. But we are tired of holding on. Holding on to hurt. Holding on to lies. Holding on to hope. Holding on to dear life which has denied us more than it has allowed us what we deserve. Slowly, we’re learning to take. Take what’s rightfully ours. Take what we deserve. Take on the world.
Our stomachs have starved for love, for equality, for life. Our stomachs have fed on disappointments, insecurities, anxieties, inhibitions, misogyny, and hate. Our stomachs haven’t learned to stomach kindness, happiness, or love without wondering what price we have to pay for it.
Our wombs have been the whole world for our babies. Some of our wombs have been graveyards for unwanted women-to-be. Some of our wombs have brought us shame for being infertile. Some of our wombs have been denied the rights to themselves by men dictating the rules for our bodies.
Our backs are pillars of strength and determination. Our spines have borne the weight of the patriarchy, trying to bury us with silence and cruelty. But, our spines refuse to bend, let alone break.
Our vaginas have been used against us, to shame us, to blame us, and violate us. Our vaginas defy the laws of physics and stretch miraculously to create life and soul out of our wombs.
Our legs have walked on our own dreams and wishes without complaining. Our legs are chained to obligations and responsibilities, weighing us down and keeping us grounded. But, we are learning to use our legs as wings to help us fly and soar the skies.
Our bodies are meals you can feast upon, but cannot digest. Our bodies are ours and nobody else’s.
We are goddesses, and our bodies are our temples. The world is just as much ours as it is of everyone else’s, and we deserve equal rights and opportunities to live the way we want to. Our bodies are our homes, and you do not get a say in what we do with our homes, in them, or outside them. You do not get to decide whether we can write, or draw on our walls, or pierce them. You do not get to decide whether we should mow our lawn or not. If you do not like it, leave.
Our bodies are magic, miracles, and marvels. We are heterosexuals, homosexuals, bisexuals, asexuals, cis females, trans females, gender fluid, non-binary, and infinite. Labels cannot decide whether we are too womanly or not womanly enough. We are tall, short, dark, fair, have large breasts, have small breasts, have no breasts, have a vagina, have no vagina. Our breasts or vaginas do not complete us or make us women, our spirits do.
After all, what’s in a name? Her whom we call a woman by any other name would have just as strong a spirit.