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Dealing it on my own!
Delusional and wrecked,
Descriptive insanity
Destressing myself on my own
Don't you dare!
Dealing it on my own is not healthy
Disaster of both metaphors
Degrading love,
Displacing hearts,
Destroying faith,
Destructing vows,
Deleted mindset,
Distance may help
Drowning
Days will come easy
Dealing it on my own
#StraightPoem
Audra Feb 5
She has brought us down
But never mind that
Because I must pretend
And write beautiful words for her.

She would never be our choice,
But she was chosen, so I
Must make her a pretty mask
To hide herself behind

So others can call her pretty.
and even worse when it is an adult
Why do we treat each other this way?
Feels like our words are only a chain . . .

Sister-chained
            why do you
treat me this way?

Sister-chained
            How do I
get you to change?

Sister-chained
            why oh why?
Oh why, even today,
            I'm sister-chained?

Noth-ing but pain,
Born to be sisters except for this pain,
That pain, the words, pain it remains. . .

Sister-chained
conflict between us al-ways remains,
conflict between us remains.

Sister-chained
            unchain your hearts for love.
Oh woe,

Sister-chained
            How do I
get you to change?            
unchain your hearts for love.
Oh woe,


Oh woe. . .
Ever notice how critical and abusive women are towards each other?
Rayne Oct 2018
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.
Enola Cabrera Mar 2018
I stare at myself in the mirror
Picking and degrading every single curve, bump, and blemish
Labeling myself as unworthy of human affection

Degrading what I physically cannot change
And hating what I can change but chose not to

I am quick to blame myself for the littlest of things
And say sorry more than I probably should
Even for the things I had no part in

I set these barriers almost impossible to *******
But I dwell on the smallest of things said about me
Letting them tear me down mentally until I give in and believe them

But in this world
In this society
In this generation
All we can do is try to build our walls higher and higher

Until we are finally tired of building
Attempt to stay true to yourself and keep building!
Weathering due to weather’s sting,
Beware weathering due to weather’s sting,
None safe, from weathering due to weather’s sting.

Sings the face of clay,
Some song of old? Or…I don’t know….
But regardless, she hums away.

The tarnished gold, speaks th’ times of old,
When her luster was second to none,
And her silver and pearl, had told the world
The wearer was never out-done

But, gone are the days when she was shown around,
To every eye that could ever be found,
And also donned with excited glee,
To make the wearer that of a deity,

Terrified; She saw her days of luster pass, as all things of beauty cannot last,
She hoped and tried; perhaps she would be an exception
To be dignified; To the rule that stands with never altered perspective,

Powerless; she felt her beauty slip through her fingers,
Hopelessness; It’s not a song she is singing, unease now lingers,
Warning us; All we know will be reduced, by Mother, to cinders,

Her pain now apparent, how couldn’t, before, I see?
She repeats her warning to me,

Weathering due to weather’s sting,
Beware weathering due to weather’s sting,
None safe, from weathering due to weather’s sting.
Quentin House Jan 2015
You degrade me, push me down, and hurt me.
But yet I would take on a army for you.

You make me cry, you make my soul sting, my heart clench up.
But yet I would take a bullet for you.

You notice my scars, then tell me to smile. But all you do, it's impossible for me to smile.
I etch some more into my arm, afraid of disappointing you, the one who caused these wounds.

"Don't yell." I proclaim. I may not be able to smile. But my flesh can.
This is a story about how I had the smile cut on the top of my hand.
Juliet Escobar Jul 2014
Her
It's like right from wrong becomes irrelevant when it comes down to the person you love. You know you're not being treated how u should but you ignore it, due to pure fear of loosing them or simply not having them. I know I should be number 1 but I'm accommodating to less than that because of love? Is it love? Or is it the desire of something forbidden.
This pain is paralyzing.
I need her.  
I want her.
If I think about how her arms,
How her body completely held mine I can still feel it.
I can still smell her scent.
I cry. The exact same tears I shed as she held me.
Emotional overwhelment.
difference is, I'm actually alone.
She's not holding me anymore.
She has her own person. So she can survive without me.
I was just a distraction.
Yet she still acts and Perseus and brainwashes me as if I were superior to her number 1.
It's all so messed up, it's all so degrading, and simply wrong,
And I am choosing to ignore it.
Which is also wrong.
But how could I not talk to her? How could I cut her out when she's crawled in so deep.
I need to get her out. And keep her out.
I am not the other woman.  
I have my flaws. But my potential is not of thee to be in this position.
So I scream
"**** her I don't need her I can do this"

In hopes of one day believing it.
Maybe one day her voice won't make me melt.
Maybe one day this will all just be a memory just as every other person, who has come into my world and left with pieces leaving me with less of myself.
Maybe.
Marly Apr 2014
yes,
i'm short,
and i know you can touch the sky while i can't.
why have you never offered me a seat on your shoulders, though?

yes,
i'm short,
however, i could do without you reminding me that nobody wants to draw the short straw.

yes,
i'm short,
but that doesn't mean you should absorb all of the sun as i shrivel up in your shadow.

yes,
i'm short,
yet i still like to feel like i am not.
so i've kinda lost my ability to write again and i wish i knew why
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