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I’m not a size ten

Never been petite

Suffered throes of passion

Or lived with conceit

In height I’m bereft

No leggy lofty form

Not even 5 foot

The UK norm

My face is not symmetrical

No make-up would repair

No artists canvass

A painter would despair

But inside this frame

An esoteric fact

No yesterday woman

No submissive artefact

There beats a heart of a lion

Someone once said

But this strength lays within

My chest, my breast, my head

Society sees me simply

A frail and withered maid

But this country was built

On my slave trade.

So when you see me

Look beyond the shell

A soldier, a builder, a mother

The stories I could tell.


What do you think?