“oh, that I were a man for his sake! Or that I had any friend would be

a man for my sake! But manhood is melted into curtsies,

valor into compliment, and men are only turned into

tongue, and trim ones too. He is now as valiant as Hercules

that only tells a lie and swears it.

I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving.”

 

Sometimes I wish I could grasp the hand of a general, look him in the eye, and be regarded with that respect known from gentlemen of old.

How beautiful it is to be a woman– but how noble would it be to stand shoulder to shoulder with men? I long to “fight the lions of injustice” but fear I will never be seen beyond my female skin.

 

I don’t long to be adored: I wish to be heard.

I disdain honeyed words if they come at the cost of serious regard for my words.

My passion is just as real, just as strong, just as vital as any man’s; My ideas, my solutions, my endeavors are none the less worthy.

I, too, want to muddy my boots with doing all I can to redeem a broken humanity. I want to cover my hands in callouses from battling obstruction, hardship and apathy.

 

My face is too pretty to sally into war.

 

I fear I will always peek through the crack, watching heavy-hearted, never actually entering the room where the “do-ers” of this world smoke cigars and tackle the evils of life.

I don’t understand why Scripture is interpreted to negate permission for a woman to preach. Sometimes the ways of God cannot be fathomed. Secretly, I wonder at the cruelty which encapsulates the heart of man within a woman’s breast.

 

I love my sisters; I love pursuing Truest Beauty; I love this skin, I do.

But how often it can become a cage.

 

Why won’t you observe my case in earnest? When will my voice be acknowledged for the truth I can utter, for the challenges I put forth?

I can hold my own among the sons of history: the men who re-sculpted the face of the world. I can stand my ground and not quail in the face of adversity. I can sacrifice my strengths; I can die for a Grander Cause.

 

What a pity I am born to a charmingly condemned birthright.

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