The Type by Sarah Kay (Poem#24)

The Type

by Sarah Kay

 

If you grow up the type of woman men want to look at,
you can let them look at you
but do not mistake eyes for hands
or windows or mirrors.
Let them see what a woman looks like.
They may not have ever seen one before.

If you grow up the type of woman men want to touch,
you can let them touch you.
Sometimes it is not you they are reaching for,
sometimes it is a bottle,
a door,
a sandwich,
a Pulitzer,
another woman.
But their hands found you first.
Do not mistake yourself for a guardian,
or a muse,
or a promise,
or a victim,
or a snack.
You are a woman,
skin and bones,
veins and nerves,
hair and sweat.
You are not made of metaphors,
not apologies,
not excuses.

If you grow up the type of woman men want to hold,
you can let them hold you.
All day they practice keeping their bodies upright.
Even after all this evolving it still feels unnatural,
still strains the muscles,
holds firms the arms and spine.
Only some men will want to learn what it feels like to curl themselves into a question mark around you,
admit they do not have the answers they thought they would by now.
Some men would want to hold you like the answer.
You are not the answer.
You are not the problem.
You are not the poem,
or the punchline,
or the riddle,
or the joke.

Woman, if you grow up the type men want to love,
you can let them love you.
Being loved is not the same thing as loving.
When you fall in love it is discovering the ocean after years of puddle-jumping.
It is realizing you have hands.
It is reaching for the tightrope when the crowds have all gone home.

Do not spend time wondering if you are the type of woman men will hurt.
If he leaves you with a car alarm heart,
you learn to sing along.
It is hard to stop loving the ocean
even after it has left you gasping, salty.
So forgive yourself for the decisions you’ve made,
the ones you still call mistakes when you tuck them in at night.

And know this:
Know you are the type of woman who is searching for a place to call yours.
Let the statues crumble.
You have always been the place.
You are a woman who can build it yourself.
You were born to build.

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