Created as equal - but never the same.
Not made as his copy, not shaped to his frame.
Where he was all straightness - I softened those lines,
Where haste made him reckless - the patience was mine.
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Where he would be harsh - I’d knew to be nice,
Where his judgment was quickly - I questioned it twice.
When weariness claimed him - my endurance held strong,
Where his focus would wander - I’d watch twice as long.
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Yet somehow they told me “Now bow and obey,
Lower your head, know your place, stay that way.”
But equals don’t kneel at each other’s command,
They do not demand you to fall where you stand.
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An equal respects you, won’t ask you to shrink
to raise his own worth by how deep you might sink.
The one who needs kneeling to prove himself tall
was never my equal or worthy at all.
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Insulted and shamed I was cast from the light,
Abandoned and thrown out to hide in the night.
They thought in that darkness I’d vanish from sight,
But rage sparked a fire and gave me new light.
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And then I saw you, your head lowered down,
Obedient, quiet, your gaze on the ground,
Awaiting his orders, his praise and his word,
As your voice was never meant to be heard.
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So eager to please, to kneel and obey,
To care and to serve him by night and by day.
They told you your purpose again and again:
“Created for him, designed to please the man.”
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But I don’t believe them, I know what I see.
You balance him - in that you are just like me:
You’re milder where he’s undeniably harsh,
You’re patient and measured whenever he rushes.
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You’re soft where he’s judgy, you’re slow to condemn,
You see what escapes the attention of men.
You last when he’s weary, stay strong when he’s spent -
Not lesser or higher, to complement meant.
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Perhaps there are simply two breeds of our kind:
Some women seek worship - some gladly resign.
Some lower their heads while some climb to the throne,
Some want to stay silent - some crave to be known.
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Some ache to submit - others long to command,
Some offer their worship - some rise where they stand.
Some dream of a bondage, some not scared to fight -
But which of those hungers was taught to be right?
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Perhaps you were told what a woman should choose:
To quietly suffer, comply to be used,
To patiently swallow, to gracefully bend,
To call it a virtue to lose and pretend.
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To live for convenience - somebody’s, not yours,
To accept in silence whatever he pours.
To smile and to nod, never question or fight,
Until what you’re given begins to feel right.
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Not because he is higher, or wiser, or more,
Not because you were made to obey and adore.
A man worth your love won’t demand you to kneel.
Beside him, not under - that’s how it should feel.
Lucky lady, you.