I know you:
Girl on the garden bed.
Sleep rests upon you like a silver cloud.
Your reason is abandoned to dreams.
I know you,
And your dreams.
I see your tears behind your eyes.
I feel your electric anger,
And I hear your breath.
You are a girl,
Female even in your thoughts.
You are a woman,
And your body changed your mind.
Strong feminine warrior:
Beaten with a sword
Only to counter with music.
Degraded with words
Only to sing.
Washed in sorrow
Only to be cleansed.
You wrestle with beauty
And what you are to others.
Woman, lady, girl, female. . . .
Why do you never scream?
Isn't it better sometimes to be ugly, angry?
I wonder about your body
And how much of it you think is you.
If you put lipstick on your soul
And spray perfume on your spirit;
If your mind wears jewelry
And your thoughts enjoy the company of men.
Are you female?
Or is your body just a female machine?
Does your mind decide who to love
Because of your body's attraction?
Do you really like pink?
They identified you, labeled you from birth:
"It's a girl."
And you remain beautiful. . . .
Silver and sleek,
Gentle, rosy, musical, light,
Eyelashes and fingernails,
Long hair and pierced ears,
Identified with goddesses and queens for all time.
Aren't you angry?
Aren't you a person first?
All your real beauty
Goes with you first,
Not with your silk stockings.
Why are you so afraid to give this up?
Why must you add false beauty?
I know you.
You are a symbol.
You are a girl.