I am an angry woman. 


No, I don't have picket signs

propped up in my garage

or a coarse voice,

from screaming.

I've never marched

down a street with proud sisters,

demanding what we deserve.




I've stayed at home,

quietly forming loud opinions. 

I listen as every woman

I have ever truly known

remembers her personal horrors,

waking nightmares,

crying in ways I cannot

even begin to describe, and


I am an angry woman.


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741