What Do I Have To Offer?

Do you ever feel like you were underestimated, or worse, dismissed, because of your strength and resilience? This poem speaks to the experience of a woman who has been silenced, hurt, and minimized by those who failed to see her true worth. But through it all, she rises. Have you ever had to stitch together your own strength, learning to love and rise on your own terms?

I did not have to wait for silver threads
To lace my hair,
Before boys echoed,
"What do you have to offer?"
"Why should I care?"

These men, they mourn and rage,
Clench fists at fate,
They curse the hands that failed to save,
When the “man of the house” grew frail,
Yet in my youth, my pulse, my fire,
They cut, they chipped, they tried to tame,
And when I bled, they turned away,
Left a heart too young to bear the shame.

But I have learned to hold my own,
To stitch the wounds they left behind,
To find the beauty in the scars
And keep my spirit kind.

What do I have to offer?
More than they’ll ever know,
The strength to love, the will to rise,
A quiet power, a steady glow.

When the world turns its back on you, or when people question your worth, how do you respond? This poem reminds us that true power comes not from external validation but from the quiet strength we cultivate within. What do you have to offer, and are you ready to show the world?

Comments

Game Of Fire and Ice

Hey Mister, Why won't you play a game of Twister? I promise I won't play coy. Won't you love it if I were your only toy? You can be the Lion in the boardroom, Then make me roar in the bedroom. Let's play the game of fire and ice. You bring the sugar, and I get the spice. I am praying by myself these nights, Drowning my moans when the city sleeps tight. We can play the game of Super Sonic, And then have our own race over some gin and tonic. So find me, like an app can find a phone. No, I won't bring out my Medusa and turn you into stone. I have been getting over my fears, Learned to make my tears into spears. You can take me as you like. We can go until we hear the third strike.

Polished Sins

A suit and tie, that polished smile, Covering up sins stacked mile by mile. They flaunt “new love,” someone else’s child— A ready-made story, perfectly styled. They’ve “levelled up,” or so they preach, But on someone’s pain, they made their reach, With vows of loyalty, words so neat, While another’s screams lie beneath their feet. Oh, they “moved on” to brighter skies, Leaving someone broken, with silent cries. They mount new heights, they shout and boast— Scaling peaks on another's haunted ghost. So smile for the camera, flash your pride, Show off the life that you tried to hide. For we know the truth beneath your gleam— A hollow show, a self-made scheme.

Till You Sing

Some would say men went to war for women like you, But I would still choose war if it meant choosing you. You say you write in amorous lines, But I would let you be the woman of my tribe. You had your adventures Under The Buda Moon, But have you been loved past noon? So I can see you shine like a magical flower, In the quiet warmth of the golden hour. The invisible strings pull at my heart Can I do justice to your name? Caress you right, Till you sing like a Carnatic hymn. Inspired by the author of Under The Buda Moon, Veena Rao

Cruising Alone

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