Phenomenal Women
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.
Maya Angelou, Phenomenal Woman, 1978