A Woman.

Made by Abrar Abdulrahman.

A woman.

I walk in a world that whispers I am lesser, yet stares when I pass, hungry eyes carving me into something to be wanted, owned, consumed—a body first, a mind second, a woman last.

My hands build quieter, my work fades faster than a boy’s would.

I carry the weight of centuries in the curve of my spine, in the ache of my womb, in the silent strength it takes to bleed and bear, to break and heal, to prove myself twice over for half the recognition. 

They crave me but do not see me. They measure my worth in the shape of my hips, in the softness of my lips, yet expect me to carry the world with steady hands,

I am expected to smile through the labor they never name. I walk afraid, yet I walk anyway.

Each step into the night— a quiet act of defiance.   Each breath— a rebellion.

I am told I am fragile, yet I have survived storms they will never know. I am a woman, a force, a fire— desired, dismissed, yet never destroyed.

I will not be unseen. I will not be silenced. I am here, unyielding, and I am more than what they take from me.