Her Ammunition


In solitude she cries with no man’s hand wiping those tears dry,
With inferiority being the only thing checking in, stopping by,
Did you exchange your strength for doubt?
All these trophies, yet not a single one makes her proud.
How can you know everything, but never be quite right?
The question plays on repeat,
After one of her failures breaks the record called her dreams.
She doesn’t see, yet she is too blind,
To truly see that she is one of a kind.
How every morning her charisma awakes,
Fills up bystander’s veins with caffeine shakes.
She fails to be aware of her power,
Since all her gaze is fixated on is the tower of her desire,

Quiet is how she remains when injustice floods her veins,
Since women should clear off husbands’ stains,
Hide mistakes, ignore affairs.
Born with the purpose of devotion,
Under no constraints should she receive any professional promotions
They describe her as an ocean of emotions,
Yet she orchestrates every wave with ease,
Leads with peace, will not deceive.
But let’s not forget her ambition,
Being the sweetest, yet most cruel ammunition
Ready to fight all societal predispositions.
And she is not looking to be recognised,
Only wants to read through immoral minds with her clever eyes.

And even though she fills rooms with silence,
She cannot be silenced.
Her words always leave them unable to breathe,
Since they can’t quite grasp supreme with their mocking teeth.
Even though they claim to be her competition,
They are the mediocrity, which she’ll fragment into a million pieces,
Leaving their designer shirts obscured by many creases.
She is a woman. She was not made for coalition.

Image Credit: Jacob de Wit via WikiMedia Commons

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