Phenomenal Woman

I wrote last night about my newfound appreciation for writing. Yeah, I write. I have a blog, but one thing is certain. I’m not a poet. I have never claimed to be a poet. I love poetry, but I haven’t really been able to get the hang of stanzas or iambic pentameter. I covet beautiful poetry. There is nothing quite like the feeling of reading a poem and feeling the hairs on the back of your neck rise, the bumps on your arms as every word speaks volumes. Ever have a poem do that?

I have.

I don’t claim to be a huge Maya Angelou fan, but this poem is one of my favorites. I read it often and remember certain stanzas.

I read this poem and immediately feel

every. single. word.

Enjoy….

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
but when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
the curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman, 
That’s me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Men themselves have wondered

What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman.
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
The palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
‘Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
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