They measure me in shadows of men,
as if my worth were a reflection,
as if my pulse beat only
when it syncs with theirs.
They line me beside their shapes,
call it fairness,
call it truth—
but the scale is rigged,
tipped in centuries of their weight.
I am not their mirror.
I am not a man,
I am a woman—
my own storm,
my own horizon,
a name carved in stone
without their chisel.