I grew up, and I became a complicated woman.
In my childhood, I dreamt it’s freeing to grow into yourself.
Instead, I became a complicated woman
with too many memories to let go of what I want.
Men are not complicated, they are “complex”
they are not stubborn, they “hold their ground.”
I grew up and became a complicated woman
to be collected and contained, admired yet undermined
too much for the world; too little for myself.
I grew up, and I became a complicated woman
took up too much space to fit the fringes of the law
outgrew the childish desire for comfortable simplicity
never quite outgrew the feeling that I’m wishing for too much.
At night, under roofs built by men held up by women
I write a declaration of complication for myself
commit to remaining a complicated woman
to clinging to ambitions that the world thinks are too much.
Photo by Allana Taranto.