A Love Letter to Men: I Am a Woman, Not a Thing

I am skin. I am a heart with nerves and feelings. Every woman has different instructions, written in her eyes, in her tears. Waiting for someone who will read in-between the lines.
03/01/2016 09:28 am ET Updated Dec 06, 2017

Dear Men,

I am a Woman
I am not a thing.
I am not a number on a scale.

I am skin,
I am a heart
with nerves and feelings. If you hit me, I bruise.

I am not just an object to be pursued and desired.

I'm a woman --  
Not a piece of land to be ruled, governed and conquered.

Anything you chase after runs.

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Who has been described as appealing, innocent and delicate.

Pure, but promiscuous -- must be a tease.
Can give life yet is labeled fragile "handle with care."

Some men need a woman weaker than them
he gains false esteem from a woman, who is somewhat strengthless as if her inability to move were an indication of his greatness.

To trap, abuse the giving of herself, of her emotions -- her soul, till she lays motionless on the floor. As he stands with a gold medal above her head smirking towards the world.

I'm a book made with words you cannot understand,

my mind is a dictionary of courage and kindness -- but you read weakness.

Her heart is poetry longing for sweet honey, yet only knows salt water.

And he scoffed at the idea of her building buildings taller than he...

Extinguished any fire she tried to start, demolished any word she spoke, any thought she could breathe out.

Trapping her motionless on the floor.

How dare I speak back?

You were the master, and I the puppet; controlled by your strings, caught in a web of lies, your eyes spoke innocence -- but your lips said otherwise.

Every woman has different instructions, written in her eyes, in her tears. Waiting for someone who will read in-between the lines.

He was the lightning and I the tree,
his words will be the fire that burned the best parts of me.

but,

I'm a woman, and that can only be defined in any way that I see fit.
But whatever it is, it is whole.

I'm
A Woman. A Warrior.

Who knew a man (boy) she thought was everything and realized nothing.

Respectfully,
More Than A Pretty Face.

This post originally appeared on Medium.

Love Letters are a series of internal monologues that we keep hidden, look for more of my work and poetry at https://demetrademi.tumblr.com