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Amanda Stoddard Feb 2017
1, 2, 3, 4
What are women fighting for?

My father doesn't know-
about my past.
As the **** culture comments
slip from his tongue-
I mourn for the women
who experience the same.

Because every time
it is a knife upon my spine
chipping away at my backbone.

Some days,
it hurts to stand up straight.

5, 6, 7, 8-
Women need to procreate!

We tell women
their legs are an entry way
men can use at will.

But then they urge us to keep the seed
growing inside of us-
when sometimes it is just a ****
coming to the surface
because of an invasion
of our own garden
the one we spent
so much time growing.

In the case we let it flourish
into a flower, even though we don't
have the proper nutrients
all of those mouths
that told us to water it
are now dry and absent.

They don't return
so we are the ones who become withered..

Once,
a man who thought we was more
medicine than overdose
took away a child
that could of been my sibling.

And ever since-
my mother feels the withdrawal.

7, 8, 9, 10-
Will **** culture ever end?

Not when there's a vulture
among the white house
now painted blood red,
Caucasian white,
and bruised ego blue.

When the words
are noosing their way
around our necks-
we must give misogyny a kiss of death.

When some "feminists"
spew misandry from the pores
remind them to exfoliate
the hatred from their vocal chords.

Remind them to
look up the definition of feminism.

We can't forget-
about the boy who was forced
by his cousin and stayed silent
because "men can't get *****"
right?

We can't forget-
about the women of color
who fight harder than most
because their skin
gives them the greater war.

When this America
is etched with white supremacy
Don't let them fetishize
or demoralize our sisters.
We stand together.

Don't let these instances
slip through your fingers.
Grab them by the throat
and remind yourself
of when they made
you lose your voice.

1, 2, 3, 4
What are the people fighting for?

******* Equality.
Amanda Stoddard Jan 2017
What do you do
when you realize
you're the aftermath
of someone's abuse?

It was written in the subtleties,
not the clear skin on your face.

You find it etched inside
of a voided smile.

The byproduct
of back handed remarks.

You stayed home
convinced yourself
you weren't really lonely.
But when you went out
you were made to feel the same.

Second guessing became
second nature.
Proving yourself worthy
became a personality trait.

It's not always clenched fist
or hit and run

It's a quick wit
and a razor tongue too.

The kind of love
that makes you
question the lengths
you've walked in life.

Makes you think
the only way is stay put
or go backwards.

The green eyed monster
turned you pale again
and you don't see
yourself in the mirror anymore.

Only someone who paints
her face with a smile
and tells everyone she's okay.

But the aftermath
is still just as deadly.
and your eyes feel sore
from trying to see
the good in things.

It's not always black eye
and a pain in your head.

If the flags read red-
then run.
No matter how far
you have made it.
Green eyes as in jealousy
Amanda Stoddard Dec 2016
Died a thousand times
to watch you live inside of me
But with each house fire burned
We became nothing
but a cemetery.

Ashes became of bones
and I lost my place of comfort
but you conform to coincidence

and say it didn't happen
pretend it didn't happen.

Your eyes are the fire
that made this home a hell
And I'm having trouble
sleeping through this heat
when will you admit it to me?

You poured the salt
on these open wounds.
Drunken tendencies
leading you dependent
on a girl who never stayed.

Still you gave your words away
to a place that wasn't mine
and ever since
I've felt homeless.

You fueled this tragedy
with cheap beer
and desecrated the
aftermath of my remains.

and said it didn't happen
pretended it didn't happen.

Too hard to be happy
without a home
inside of my heart.
I guess it's time to start
rebuilding
But these bones ache
and this head hurts.
You're always
feeding the flames
You're always
burnt out.
I'm always
feeling the heat
Trust is a two way street
But ours was an intersection.
Too much stop and go,
Not enough direction.
So all we did ever did
was crash
And burn.
Amanda Stoddard Dec 2016
You have become nothing but a zip file inside of my memory,
taking up too much space so I had to make you smaller, and smaller
until this nostalgia didn’t overload my chest cavity
and you became minute enough to just forget again.

I have sent you into the backup file
laying on the desk in my room
Away where our pictures are.
Away where you should be.

It was always supposed to be give and take
But all you ever did was take what you wanted
and acted like I was the one who couldn’t give it.

Now I am found
one year after the fact
and each of the three I spent with you
has left me with nothing but resentment
and this animosity chained around my ankle
you always held me back.

I don't care enough
about you anymore
to finish this poem
it ended when we did.
I guess finishing is
something we were both
terrible at.

well at least not for me anymore.
Amanda Stoddard Dec 2016
One year.
I read it on the page
twist it until it
cripples around
my tainted fingers.

I looked you
in your eyes
and asked you
why I should stay.

You could never tell me.
Still you never told me.

Actions speak
louder than words
but even your
voice was quiet.

Your hands were still-
Too strained
from words you
gave to her

and never let me breathe-
suffocating
under your insecurity.

She broke you
so you broke me
and I was left
with nothing.

I never had you
and you never wanted me to.

So I broke away
From what left me broken

you still think it's my fault.
I guess it's all just my fault.

For letting someone in
who didn't love me the same.
For loving her
Until it drove me insane.
Amanda Stoddard Nov 2016
Seems you spend
so much time
worried sick
about my mental state
I'm starting to think
I'm not okay.
You convince me
I'm not okay.
Let me lie here
enjoy the silence.
I don't want to drown
inside of worry.
Not anymore.
Amanda Stoddard Nov 2016
The only truth known to me-
is the simple sense of delicacy.
The furrowed brow
and the asking how.
The not knowing when
or how to withstand
The idea of an end
only to lose some friends.

The hurt from it all
and the pain of death.
Seems I am the only thing left-
but I'm barely hanging on.
I'm barely hanging on.

This clenched fist
doesn't make any sense.
I can't reach out
somethings holding me down.
These hands are stuck stagnant
seems the darkness is stuck on me.

No rhyme scheme
seems to fit
so the metaphors
and the meanings are split.
Something in common
with my personality.

Ups and downs
encompassing my skull
Seems I don't know
anything at all.

The hurt from it now
and the pain of goodbye
Seems I am the only one
grasping at what holds me up-
but I'm barely hanging on.
I'm barely hanging on
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