Phenomenal Woman and Why I Think I'm One

Years ago my dear friend gave me a little book, Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelo. It made me feel groovy, sexy, powerful. It lit me up and made me strive for the day that this exact feeling would hit me life a fire ball, straight to the wild spirit I was harboring somewhere between my breast and my heart.  I waited, I kept reading this, and I waited. When, I thought, when will I rock my own world, break ground and slam my fist on that damn old table, my hair slapping my cheeks? Life got in the way, my heart breaking into pieces a million times over, but I could never shake this determination. One day, one day I too will feel just like Maya. I will walk out of that front door, shaking my ass and jumping straight into the arms of an ecstatic life. Years later, and what seemed eternity boiled over, it happened. It felt like an explosion, as if orchestrated by some insane Isadora Duncan choreographed piece. I was blasted, slamming my entire steamy body against the wall, hair slapping my cheeks. I couldn’t breathe, my eyes closed, and a wet brow told me that phenomenal had entered my body. I was there. A lifetime of tragic joys and sorrow, I had reached feminine euphoria and all I could do was sit down. I sat down with stories scratched into my veins, telling me that my life was grand even within the twisted coils of lost love, opportunities missed and sobbed out pillows etched with my blood in the linens. I had lived big, loved bigger, saw the world but was always trying to pull out my voice, my own grito, over the barks around me. I floated patiently, drinking in life as it unfolded and collapsed around me. I believed I would get to phenomenal, even in my darkest hours. I believed that phenomenal peaked at me through my glorious moments, teasing me to wait, much like waiting for the succulent lover to finally arrive. In between the waiting and the living, I was shown love and what love wasn’t. I was shown my purpose and what it wasn’t. I was shown my soul, raw and oozing, telling me that truth would come from pure love. Not the love from the Knight in the dark, ripping the sheets from my exhausted body, but from me. I would be the Goddess under the moon, whispering love songs to my own ears, when everyone else had crawled into their own darkest hours. This love would be the biggest surprise of my life, catching me off guard and seducing me with my own phenomenal self. I had finally arrived.


Phenomenal feels like this. Like the wind, the stars and the moon have seeped into my glorious body. It feels like I can breathe and lose breath over the feeling of light in my heart. It feels like all of my other feelings before this didn’t matter, as they quickly dissolved like ashes from my old tattered soul. I had been given a life force and the love of my life. From one day to the next even my body changed, shifting into miraculous. My breasts look tender and alive, my hips smoothing out into soft folds of juice and flesh, my thighs became thunderous and proud. I turned and twirled and danced, naked in my mirror. My body has ripened, filled with the nectars of a Goddess. The skin on my face has taken on a glow of infinity, not old or young. And the walk, the swagger, the prance has also arrived. My feet dip into the earth, ready at any given moment, to dance to the beat of fierce howls from the wild animals in my pelvis. I thrust my chest forward, wiggle my ass and move to the song beating in my heart. Phenomenal feels like being ripped open from the seams and infused with radical joy. It feels like being born into yourself and becoming mad crazy about it. Years in the making, suffering forgotten, phenomenal reminds you that you are divine. Phenomenal reminds you that the world needs to be intoxicated by your pulsating body, salivating at the mouth at your radiance. Phenomenal feels so good that you wondered how you ever lived on earth, trapped in those darkened caves of self- destruction. Phenomenal is you. It is your birthright. It’s time.


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 womanPhenomenally. 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 of my care, 'Cause I'm a woman Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman, That's me.

In Love,



Christy FunkComment