Live, birth, die.
That was life to me.
I didn't know living meant more than ambition,
more than praise,
more than giving love
as someone else's place.
I didn't know sacrifice.
I didn't know disappointment.
I didn't know
no one else was meant
to fill the void of love.
A man was meant to provide.
A woman was meant to nurture.
But somewhere,
women were taught to endure
the pain their daughters would refuse.
They chased strength
until they forgot
they were never the weak.
Because prey
only exists
where there is a predator.
So they chose power.
Chose to become what they lacked.
Chose to become the man
when power was denied.
But a woman
was never made to be a man.
Never meant to carry everything alone.
Never meant to harden into survival.
Never meant to be the wound
and the healer at once.
Never an afterthought.
Never created for spite.
And yes,
it has always been a man's world.
But without a woman,
it would be a world of bones.
A world without warmth.
Without peace.
Without the quiet wisdom
that moves through both
the tender and the strong.
Not women
forcing men into softness,
not battles for control
over something we were never meant
to fight alone.
I do not want to be a man.
I want to be
the heart within the stone,
the steady turn of a hidden wheel,
the voice that does not break
in the storm.
I do not want to be a man.
I just want
to play my part.