How do you look into the eyes
of the woman who raised you
and admit you are flawed
How do you tell her
that all her time and effort
her sleepless nights
and early mornings
were all for waste
How do you tell her
that her lectures and praises
were all in vain
How do you look at her
knowing
that you are less
than what she raised you to be.
How do you apologise to her
for ruining her creation?
How do you tell her
"i am not what you deserve as a daughter"
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 6:35 AM UTC
I will leave the door open
so that you may enter at your own pace
Feel free to wander around
And question me
on what you find
All i ask in return
is that you approach
with an open mind
and that you are gentle
For you might not like
what hangs upon these walls
But they have created
my home.
-I hope you find home here too
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 6:32 AM UTC
How can you try to shame me
For the slope of my breast
and the width of my hips
for the way my skin
curves and dips
For within me are the voices
of the phenomenal women
who stood before me
exclaiming to the army of men,
who labelled them inferior,
that we are their equal
There is no shame in being a woman.
For within women lies the future;
The birth of the revolution of equality
tell me how you can shame
the woman who has birthed you
the woman who has raised you
how do you label us lesser
when we are the ones who
carry the future
Tell me why does
the curve of my breast
allow you to name me inferior
why does my soft skin
allow you to bruise it
with your harsh words
of incapability
I am a woman
And in this,
there is no shame.
I am a woman
And I am proud
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 6:03 AM UTC
Amanda's Hunger
She has a habit of wandering off,
Whilst being in one place.
She'd be staring out the window
Manipulating what she saw,
Into what she wanted it to be.
"I'm hungry"
She'd say, mid mindless gazing,
Only it was rarely for food
But rather for exploration,
Discovery and experiences.
Her soul starved
Of authentic auras that warm you,
Of colliding chords that form aching symphonies,
Of chaotic creations by everyone and anyone,
Of galaxies that we are made from,
Of the beauty she longs to see.
And in these times,
Where her mind is everywhere else,
I imagine she is there where she belongs
With her chaotic people,
Blaring symphonies,
Clashing souls,
Expressive creations,
The Galaxy she is deserving of.
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 2:51 AM UTC
A body of my own they had said
Be proud of the curves, the dips, the rolls.
Your body is yours and yours alone.
So why is it that I have no say over it?
Why is it that every hole, mark, change
Need to be approved of by you?
My hair to be kept a natural colour,
"It's just easier to manage that way"
My piercings to be kept decent
"Any more will make you look rebellious"
My tattoos to be modest and hidden,
"They're on you forever, think about your future"
My ability to self-express taken away from me.
My body, is not what I want it to be.
I am trapped in a body I have no control over
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 1:58 PM UTC
You said that you would give me
the world
that i was deserving of it
darling, no
i desire the entire universe
and i will not let you belittle me
into thinking i am only worth
the world
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 1:45 PM UTC
how do i, how do i formulate into words
what you have done for me?
how do i explain to the entire universe
the love you have for me?
how do i show everyone watching
the world's you've showed me?
how do i portray everything you taught me
when i am not done learning?
how do i show you that I love you when the
words are not enough?
how do i, with my barely-there talent,
express my appreciation for you?
how do i thank you
for bathing me,
for feeding me,
for teaching me,
for raising me,
for loving me?
These words
do no justice
to the gratitude
i feel for you.
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 9:29 AM UTC
I wish nothing more
than to gain the ability
to make the words appear on paper
the way they do in my head.
They make sense in there
but written down
they make me feel silly and stupid
and disappointed.
Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 3:30 PM UTC
i gave myself a week.
one week to be in awe of you,
one week to diagnose exactly what colours your eyes were
but then you stood in the sun and my research was nul and void.
One week to memorise every mark on your body displayed in public,
to remember every curve and dip that your clothes allowed.
One week to absorb everything you said and the way you said it and what you meant by saying it.
One week to pick up on your habits and stop the bad ones.
One week to appreciate the crinkle of your eyes every time you laughed or smiled or frowned or smirked.
I gave myself a week of you,
promised myself that after this week i would be done with you,
yoou would never cross my mind again
never again would i be so severely aware your presence.
I would be immune to you
it was meant to be easy and it was meant to be painless
one innocent week of thoughts of you.
but it's been two months and you are still engraved in my brain.
like an addiction i accidentally got hooked on and cant give up
i have tried to wash you out with distractions and other people,
by new hobbies and old habits
but none of that has worked
now i am slowly being consumed by the repetition of one week.
Oct 28, 2017
Oct 28, 2017 at 3:09 PM UTC
Many have told me that I am either too young to write,
or too inexperienced.
"How can you write when it isn't from what you've done?"
Well, that's the beauty of writing isn't it?
I have all the power.
I have control over all the words I put down,
I am the master of scenarios,
I am their maker.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 6:38 AM UTC