I curse myself

I curse at myself for being born a female
in a world that caters to men.

Maybe if I had the “y” chromosome, things would be easier
I wouldn’t have to fight for my voice to be heard
over the roaring of a man’s.

My words wouldn’t lose their meaning as soon as they slip out of my mouth.
I would be respected for my choices, opinions, and existence.

I wouldn’t have someone wish I were born a boy when my mother gave birth to me.
I wouldn’t have someone wish I had given birth to a boy.

I wouldn’t have to sacrifice myself, my dreams, and my values just to be appreciated and accepted.
I wouldn’t have the label, “selfish,” on me when I want to do something for myself.

I wouldn’t have to overexplain the little things in life, like why I want to work after having kids.  Or why I want to travel and see the world.

I am an honor for my brother
Respect for my father
And a sacrifice for my husband.

I am not allowed to have an identity of my own
I belong to a world that celebrates the birth of a boy
and the death of a girl.

I curse myself for being born a female.