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Rayne 2d
How dare society make us women feel like
Our very own bodies is a prison,
To be locked up behind the metal bars of our *******,
******* by the chains of our curvy figures
And the sentence lying between our thighs.

And the sentence is brutal.
Consent is no longer existent
When the *** is too tempting for a man to say no
And for you to say no.

Our butts slapped,
Chests groped,
Cheeks pinched,
Thighs squeezed,
In this prison we had the decency to call our own body
We are handcuffed to the degrading appetite of a man.

Women are not a display of things to touch
We are not a dessert menu for a man’s hunger
To be ordered by catcalling:
Want a taste of a woman’s behind?
**** that ***-!
A taste of ****-
Oh, baby, put on a show for us!
Or just the full course meal-
Hey girl, ow ow owwww!

It is about time we strong women break free.
The jailor of men- I stole the key.
It is about time we change out of our prison uniforms of
Bikinis and mini skirts and stilettos
And break down the locks that confined us.

Our prison sentence is just about up,
And when we are let loose,
Us women will no longer stand for such debasing behaviors.
And when we’re free,
It’ll be time to teach the men a little lesson

This cage of our body does not define us, boys,
Maybe try finding the prisoner behind the bars-
Her personality,
Charming smile,
And brilliant intellect,
Instead of demeaning our existence,
Objectifying our importance-
We are not your tools, your toys.

We are humans, too, you know,
With- get this- feelings.
Try manners and kindness rather than
Feeling and groping your way to a woman’s heart.

We are not a play museum- we are the artifact,
The masterpiece- Mona Lisa, Starry Night, the Sistine Chapel-
You must stand behind the red velvet ropes and perform
What the English language calls respect,
With a thing also known as consent.

This- my body- is also known as my body,
It is not his, it is not hers, and most importantly,
It is not yours.
Please try to understand this- I know, it’s super complicated.
And if you gain anything from this, let it be this:

We are not here to satisfy you-
Women are not prisoners to a man’s every need.
We are not objects- no-
And we deserve to be heard.

born to ****
born to ****
born to die
born for more than this

i have washed away
the blood and the tears
the dirt, the ***, and the rain
but the scars run deeper than skin
and cannot be wiped away
so easily

like a trench in my soul
dug far into the deepest reaches
of this landscape
my still, somehow, beating heart
shovels strike deeper
every day

the heart is twisted
gnarled and wronged
the sickness inside me claws
howling from between worlds
forgetfulness is a blessing
when it visits itself upon me

born to ****
born to die
born for more than this
whatever this is
i do not know
i yearn for more than survival
I want to live
i want more than not to drown
i want to swim

a ghost visits me
in my bed some nights
and i wish i could forget
what you did
when i let you in
She Writes Sep 6
We laid in the grass
In the park by the school
Listening to the music
And the laughter from our friends
As the tears rolled down my face
All I could think was
How lovely it would be
To be in your arms
Instead of under them
I wrote this years ago... I’ve been dusting off some old journals ❤️
An unbitten bullet
The truth penetrates
My ears
Reverberating through my skull
A fatal headshot
To my trust
Who loves the role of martyr
Now has victims of your own
Put to death
In a covert assault
Don’t tell me to relax
Don’t tell me that
Everything’s alright
It’s not
That I’m unforgiving
You never wanted forgiveness
You wanted to sustain
The immaculate perception
You paid so much to enjoy
Trust, oaths, innocence
Everything has been defiled
Anne J 5d
Red drops spill from her shivering nose,
Her cheeks are covered with blue, and filled with liquid the color of a decaying rose.
The eyes on her face gleam with sorrow,
And the heart in her goose-bumped body might not make it to tomorrow.
A recent poem about a woman being abused. I can't think of a title so I just named it abused rose sorry :(
Rayne Oct 10
What does one do when the lines of the meaning of love are blurred for a girl at the age of fourteen?
When a girl is pinned down to a bed even though she said
But let it happen because she thought that was how relationships were supposed to be.

Maybe he didn’t listen because I’m wrong
This is meant to happen
I’m his girlfriend.
I should be okay with him groping me.
Stop being so uncomfortable.
Stop squirming underneath his grasp.
Stop trying to pry his fingers off of your breast as he laughs at your struggle.
He’s your boyfriend.
He loves you.
This is okay.

It must be okay
Because the pattern continued.
It must just be love when your boyfriend tries to touch you in untouched places while you’re trying to sleep
At the age of fifteen.
I’d never been touched there before
I’d never even touched myself there before.
And I had never felt any more uncomfortable in my whole life
But who was I to say
It was love,

And it wasn’t assault, right?
Surely I- a young, normal girl- didn’t become a victim of ****** assault
I didn’t say no.
I was too scared to say no.
I was too scared that the words
Became lost in my mouth
And my eyes were stuck shut because they were too scared
Too see the kind of  love he was giving me.

And I wanted to leave but I couldn’t
Because love is supposed to be this way.
I never had a physical experience showing otherwise.
This must be love
The lines are not blurred.
This is how it is.

For a moment I thought that maybe
I wasn’t wrong.
That this repetition of touching
That this lack of approval
Was wrong.
My body is my body
I’m not found strung on the shelves of *** shops
Or delivered in a package with a bow on top
Spread across the table for a man’s full course meal.
I am a person
And just because I have ******* and curves and a vulnerable physique does not mean I am up for grabs--

He told me he loved me
But if that was love that was no love of mine
And I told him
I exposed him
I may have been in tears but I told him I knew everything that he had been doing to me and I called out his love

And he
Did not apologize.
He did not explain himself to me.
He just told me that
It was okay.
I was okay.

Because that’s right.
I am nothing
I am nothing
How silly of me to think otherwise
How silly of me that I almost forgot that I am nothing more
Than an object for you to touch how you please.
Who needs sleep
When the man can’t wait
For you to wake up
For consent
For you to yell

Because who am I to say no?
Anne J Oct 9
Mistreatment, abandonment, corruption, exploitation,
Things that have been done, without any explanation.
Blue down the face, red down the brain,
Creating a purple, pleasurable feeling, of cruelty in perverted vain.
Yet the pleasure is reversed, for it was just an excuse,
For the deepest excuse that came from the most purple bruise.
I made this sophomore year. I believe I made the word "purchistic" up, and, no, I have no idea what purchistic means. Judging by the repeating "pleasure" wordplay, I think it was a combination of "purple" and "masochistic".
sarabande Oct 9
i can't look her in the eyes
she means the world to me
but in blue irises come memories
repressed, forgotten, unwanted

his were a clear, vibrant sky
beautiful, even picturesque
but he wanted so much more
than flattery and a late-night dance

he met me at a baseball field
"it's just a date, don't be so nervous!"
"it's raining," i argued. "it's cold."
"i can fix that for you"

and my jacket came off
my shoes, sopping wet
my top, clinging to my skin
my pants, a barrier

but then i was warm with him
my lips, my ****, between my legs
it was angry, like a raging wildfire
and his touch burned me alive

he moved away not long after
the desecration of my body
i have no clue where he is
but i hate the color of her eyes
Kelly Weaver Oct 7
i cried over fireflies in front of you on our first date
and you asked for my permission to hold me
because you knew that i was far too familiar
with unwelcome hands
and i have never felt more grateful
for something so rudimentary.
my ****** is walking free as this is written
he woke today feeling safe.
he woke today with his monstrous hands uncuffed flashing fangs in his toxic grin
the same that tore my flesh to ribbons.
I woke today to another ****** assault report
from a girl's seemingly worst nightmare,
(the third in under a month)
as well as a *** offender/supreme court appointee
plastered on every platform,
and, subsequently,
a ****** predator in the highest seat in the country.
monsters like them wake to comfort
while i wake to feeling as though i can't breathe
with the weight equivalent to his five-foot-nine stature bearing down onto my chest.
you hugged me once and i started crying because i couldn't move my arms
and you held me in bed for the following hours as my whole body trembled.
i didn't mind thanking you when you asked if you could hold me
but i wish i wasn't accustomed to doing so.
Justyn Huang Oct 6
I am sorry for the:

Unsolicited **** pics
Request for nudes
Inappropriate or creepy comments
Failing to listen
Acting without asking
Emotional manipulation
Emotional unavailability
Approaching you to practice game
Shaming your sexuality
Meanwhile glorifying my own.
Laws governing your body
Calling you beautiful before
Speaking over/behind/beneath you
**** in my eyes

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