Can't Give Up

I slam my fists against the glass.

It rattles, it shakes, but it never breaks.

I pound again, hoping for the smallest crack,

Even with just that, I can hope to cause a fracture.

A glance up shows the people I want to be.

Or rather, the men. Sharkskin suits with Rolex watches,

Seated at a long conference table, files spread out.

I’m just as qualified as them, where is my seat?

My hands ache and no matter how hard I hit the glass,

Nothing comes of it aside from my raw and bloody hands.

I stare at the vibrant red streaking across my skin.

It’s quite different from their hands, it’s no wonder why.

I can’t give up against the glass ceiling yet.

My sisters are behind me and with so many of us,

Surely the glass will shatter against our force.

But for now, I hit and kick, waiting for the first crack.