being a woman

It is so strange being a woman in a man's world, where men so easily walk through doors and windows, spying on the rain and creating secret formulas, while I felt forced to remain within the closed doors of territory that has already been written upon. There is a strange feeling in being human in wanting to fly across the sky that no one has ever seen, and yet all our skies are wrapped around circles. Circles that we fall so easily inside of, circles that eat their own tale as we try to re-explain what it means to be human to eachother, over and over again. It is strange to feel trapped in my own flesh, as I watch the world fall apart, piece by piece, layer by layer, into the prisons our biology create. It is so strange being a woman, saying my mind, and hear other men's echos in my own head as if my experiences are inconsequential, and yet at one time they had created the dents along my sides.
It is odd being a woman and looking out, through the same eyes that used to only wear dresses and teach, the same eyes that made love to grandparents of parents who I will never meet.
My brother says being a woman is like having alot of social pressure, to be a certain way, as in this world someday it feels as if there is only one woman, and the rest of us originals have to somehow duplicate her, in the competition of our lives to always remain standard. always remain below the line that we will eventually be ranked against, not for society acceptance, but the acceptance of a man's diagrams and prechewed on rules as he determines what he wants to be happy.
It is odd to be defined by someone else's happiness, there is never any clarity on what makes a woman happy, men assume it is courtship and roses but every woman is different and what is courtship to one, may mean nothing to another. Why is it that all women like flowers, or all women like to wear the same shoes, and say the same words? sometimes it feels as if we haven't spread out enough, across the graphs of possibilities to find the nitches, where small beating hearts live in palms dressed in salt.
We are so small in this world as women, a wrong fantasy can bring us down to our knees, the wrong man saying the wrong word in a half hearted gesture and suddenly our reputation is destroyed, or a moment of feeling invincible is taken away again, and there is only the pressure and biology.