What makes a woman? Is it her charm, her beauty, her innate warmth, her mind or just some number (36-24-36). With these weighty questions in mind, I wrote this poem defining what I feel is being a woman.

Sometimes it is the darkness of my eyes,

or the voluptuousness of my lips,

Sometimes it is my cascading waves

or the gentle curve of my hips.

Sometimes it is what I wear,

or how I walk.

Sometimes it is what I say,

or how I say it.

Some men take these reasons

to keep me tight in their palms,

or batter me with their brutal acts.

Reduce me with their cruel words,

or burn me with their cold indifference.

I can only laugh at them.

Because it is the

steel of my mind

the warmth of my laugh

the tenderness of my heart

the fire of my spirit

the joy of my face

the strength of my character

that makes me a woman.

And nothing you do or say can take that away.