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 the reach in my arms,
The span of my hips,
The stride in 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 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 the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
The palm of my hand,
The need for my care.
I’m a woman phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman, that’s me.
Maya Angelou
