I am a woman, not an object to be bound, to be forced, to be driven, to be possessed.
Do you think I will lower my eyes demurely and say, “Yes, sir,” while you strip me of my personhood?
Do you think I will continue to cook and clean and woman your factories and your fields, your retail stores, schools and your hospitals after you legally own my womb?
Do you think I will continue to allow you to beat, beat, beat me down forever?
Or
Will there be a bubbling, bubbling, bubbling on the surface?
Will there be a burning, burning, burning in our eyes?
Will there be a marching, marching, marching to your doorsteps?
Will there be a singing, singing, singing for our lives?
No more taking, taking, taking of our labor while you dribble back our nickels and our dimes.
No more taking, taking, taking of our children for your prisons, wars, factories and mines.
No more taking, taking, taking of earths treasures that your tiny minds could never even dream.
No more guzzling of the water, oil and gasses that harm us all and only feed your greed.
We are tired of your primitive performance.
We are tired of your claim upon the earth.
Tired of your claim upon our time, upon our lives, upon our children
Who you only see as fodder for your wealth.
I am a mother, not an incubator.
I am a sister, not a receptacle.
I am a daughter, not a vessel.
There will be marching, marching, marching.
There will be singing, singing, singing.
This will be our first song.
Now that you have touched the women you have struck a rock,
you have dislodged a boulder, you will be crushed.
Women's Freedom Song, August, 1956 South Africa
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