In society's forge, where judgments burn, Sculpted souls of women, lessons learned, They're vessels, they say, to shape and mold, But their spirits, like clay, are strong and bold.

In tender youth, as innocence gleams, They're told to conform to others' dreams, Their essence, like clay, in hands not their own, Molded by norms, in shadows they've grown.

Yet, beneath the surface, a fire burns bright, Resilience and strength, they ignite the night, Society's chisel, it may leave its mark, But in their hearts, a fierce, untamed spark.

Their voices may tremble, their steps unsure, But they're warriors, enduring and pure, They'll shatter the molds, break free from the cast, Sculpting their lives, with a future steadfast.

No longer vessels, but creators, they stand, Crafting their destinies, both bold and grand, Empowered by wisdom, they rise above, Sculpted souls, they embrace self-love.

Let us celebrate these spirits, untamed, For in them, the world is forever changed, No longer just vessels, they've found their role, Sculpted souls, shaping their very own soul.