Don’t Call Me Superwoman

Lately I’ve been thinking

I can’t save you with my super powers

I am only human so don’t call me superwoman


Don’t call me superwoman

Not because I don’t balance the world on my two shoulders

Not strong enough in the eyes of men to make political decisions

But strong enough to carry the political fallout of consequences on my back

As they attack me with ads that constantly tell me that I am not good enough

Not good enough physically, as if I don’t have enough strength to qualify

Even though last time I checked I never seen a man conceive, carry and birth life, with no hands

Hands Up because we too busy using them to hold up picket signs

Screaming don’t shoot our babies in cold blood




Don’t call me superwoman

Because I don’t like the pressure that comes with the cape

It wraps around my neck a bit too tightly

And I am afraid

Afraid that every time I put it on it might be my last time

As I cry myself in the corners of closets just for a moment to be out of this world

Away from the pressures of being super and just for a moment BE a woman,

A living breathing human being who despite what Instagram portrays sometimes can’t handle it all




Don’t call me superwoman

Because that word alone will be the justification

To further persuade some that I am not in need of help

That I am miss INDEPENDENT

And I can do bad all by myself

Or I can do good

But whatever I can do, that I can do it alone

As if I am not a living creature in need of stepping on the scales in hopes that for me, one day they will balance out

One day before I burn out

From churning out pieces of me constantly

Never saying No because I couldn’t face the consequences of potential disappointment

My herstory has been clear that I come from a line of strong black women

All I can say is that I, I don’t want to suffer from their syndrome

Crash and burn until there is nothing left

But I cannot imagine that is what they would have wanted for me

And I cannot hold my breath while I wait for men to march for me like I march for them

Give up their careers for me so I can pursue my dreams and still have hopes of a family before 40 without freezing my eggs out of worry,

Hold my breath that they will support me instead of sending me to Jesus to just pray on it, tell me I will make it but won’t dare step forward to help me unload my cross for 2 seconds while I catch myself before I slip



Do not Call me Superwoman

Because it comes with just too much pressure

And I am already on the brink of exploding

Like a dormant volcano waiting to erupt

Ready to overflow generations of anguish and tears silently carried in

The crevices of my public bones,

My lower back

Or my hands that are cracked from

Being overworked and not held enough

I have come to the conclusion that I have had enough

That the days of being put on a pedestal for being able to do it all and keep it together are not glorious anymore

And for the sake of self care and self love I have chosen to come down

Before I burn after the final crash,

Before there is nothing left but ash

Before there is nothing left then an early grave stone that reads

Overly Devoted Wife


And Superwoman
















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