Maybe this can be a poem...

I just finished this awesome movie about the artist Artemisia Gentileschi and it was lovely. I had to go online to see her work and I couldn't believe how different the movie was to the actual true story. Regardless, it was inspiring and I decided to jot down the thoughts that were evoked: I am a woman, a delicate rose. Am I so delicate as to have no strength? Must I go mad? Women must play a dual role, must have the strenth to lift a man above her but still be soft, feminine. We must be subtle, so as not to threaten, must appear weak in order to make others feel empowered... To be overcome with emotion Passion and Grief, tears swelling and spilling over. Does that signal flaw? To be hard and unfeeling, with a lack of compassion, Is that not the cause of turmoil? My emotions are fleeting; they're adaptive and flexible they suit the occasion, humbling me Reminding me of my humanity. What, then, of the cold ones? Are they inhumane? Must we allow them to continue to conquer and subdue? Must we veil ourselves in order to restrain their desires their lack of self-control? I say we must rise, make them prove their Worth.