The struggle of womanhood runs through my veins
The fight of my ancestors,
Their anger is my anger.
I fight for me
And I fight for them.
The rage of a thousand generations held in the palm of her hand,
Squeezing; blood trickles down the side.
Her mighty head held up on her strong shoulders,
Why should she be ashamed?
With her back straight and arms poised,
She is a woman.
She will not be silenced.
Bio: I am a 20 year old literature student and an aspiring poet