Mujer

What makes me a woman?
Is it the way I walk
or speak softly a sexual lullaby?
It could be my dress
or the way my stockings tummy tuck my secrets.

What makes you want me?
My face?
My tits?
The perfectly placed lipstick that comes off if all goes well?


What will sustain you?
My fading beauty
or my growing heart?
My coy way
or my honest revelation?

What do you see when you look at me?

I sometimes feel that I am lacking
when I don't want to be seen through that gaze.
Am I incompetent?

Do I surrender my authenticity to please you,
playing on the desperate need to be loved
that pulsates at the core of my being?

How do I know when I have given it away already?

The sadness that lives within the heart of woman
of knowing that at times she is not loved for who she is
but
for how she meets the criteria of the illusion placed on her
is deep
and
gave birth to a movement of strong women fighting for their freedom.

Did we scare you?
Did we even succeed?

Who will love me now?