The Epitome of the Essence of Women

The women inside me

Sometimes get mold up, 

By the societal barriers

To pretend to be the best, 

Best version of an epitome feminine character, 

Regardless of what I actually feel. 

Whatever I actually feel is thwarted, 

Thwarted because it doesn't suit

Doesn't suit with the ideally, ideally 

Created posters hailing an epitome character 

But what about the women?

A human with flesh and blood, with feelings

Why should she feel in a certain way?

Framed up by so-called patriarchal society 

And why does she want to be?

Want to be the one this society wants 

Why not be ourselves?

Why not create our own norms?

Why not come closer and decide what we want

Why not create our own sphere 

Where we can shout out for love 

Not a judgment 

That this world has failed to give, in the run

For perfection and class and standard.

Our mind has ceased to remember 

Being a human with all pure feelings,

Not a puppet of standards.

Lastly, I want to conclude my poem by telling everyone that nothing is more important than making up space in society and cementing yourself