Rolanda Lang

Phenomenal Woman - BY MAYA ANGELOU

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.  I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size.  But when I start to tell them, they think I’m telling lies.  I say, it’s in the reach of my arms, the span of my hips, the stride of my step, the curl of my lips.  I’m a woman.  Phenomenally.  Phenomenal woman, that’s me.

I walk into a room, just as cool as you please.  And to a man, the fellows stand or fall down on their knees.  Then they swarm around me, a hive of honey bees.  I say, it’s the fire in my eyes, and the flash of my teeth, the swing in my waist, and the joy in my feet.  I’m a woman.  Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, that’s me.

Men themselves have wondered what they see in me.  They try so much but they can’t touch my inner mystery.  When I try to show them they say they still can’t see.  I say, it’s in the arch of my back, the sun of my smile, the ride of my breasts, the grace of my style.  I’m a woman.  Phenomenally.  Phenomenal woman, that’s me.

Now you understand just why my head’s not bowed.  I don’t shout or jump about or have to talk real loud.  When you see me passing, it ought to make you proud.  I say, it’s in the click of my heels, the bend of my hair, the palm of my hand, the need for my care.  ’Cause I’m a woman.  Phenomenally.  Phenomenal woman, that’s me.