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Must my jaw be firm,
to throw the first punch of a fight?

Must my hands be delicate,
to hold you tightly in my arms?

Must my voice be deep,
to show you how much I care?

Must my eyes be saddened,
to prove how much I want you there?
AndreaClare Nov 4
the forest she calls, a feminine tweet echoes in a masculine wood, I trip and stumble like a newly born fawn, he pulls me up, but I'm not ready, 'it's ok we'll walk together'.
who went before us, are they here watching in the sultry mist, his manly arms make me forget my promises to 'feministia', I fall again happily caught by his stone age ignorance
the ground under my heel is a spongy blanket of moss so soft I feel myself float
drift far away from society's rules of my role as a strong independent woman, I smile and giggle like a sickening barbie doll
if society crumbles we could come here to live, he could be my provider and I could be his jane in the jungle...
but alas, it's 2018 and I am a 'feminsitia'
SB Nov 2
I have these moments of epiphany.
It is while I watch myself
Wake up and not kiss the soil.

The days I don’t remember
What color the sky was
Or how I treated my mother.

Each time I fly and I realize
There is nothing more breathtaking
Then seeing her from above.

Powerful, Resilient, Art, Oppressed, Female.
That is why I fall in love with the Earth,
She reminds me of all the women I’ve ever loved
That I do not deserve.
sharon Oct 29
they don't know that
she is classical;

she is the kind people admire
but seems to be impossible
to be figured out by anyone,

but when they do,
oh how they can hear the
most beautiful lullaby
coming out of her.

— s.r.
— and not everyone is capable of getting to know and understanding her.
Christy Lei Oct 28
The old broken faucet has lost
all her *** appeal:
rusts crawl over her silvery spine,
molds grow into her fleshy bone marrow —
a piercing neck pain
forces her to bow down, she starts sobbing like
a widow’s red runny nose, shedding
cold iron tears in this decade-long winter.
But her **** penetrates the dark in a
filthy glimmer, with a raging libido,
she lubricates relentlessly
to rebel
against her miserable aging,
the physical abuse and body shaming,
the profane hands that exploited her
and objectified her as a mere metallic tool, no —
she was born with a sacred task to cleanse the world!
Revenge.
Her wrinkled mouth salivates
for this forbidden idea, unquenched, unheard.
For once, she wants to clear her throat
and curse like a loud flush toilet, but
her vocal tract is simply not
built that way — she can’t even utter a word
in her native language, nor sing
the national anthem she knows by heart
since birth.
She murmurs something like an incantation
or a wishful thinking,
probably some magical pseudo-words
to allure a lover,
an ignorant one, who would pity her
misfortune, embrace her
scars, treat her nicely
as a ******
and imbibe her bitter dew in bliss — it’s a catharsis
she’s been waiting for!
How delusional, what awaits her
is her own demise and menopause.
Julia DiMitri Oct 20
She is the sun; her blinding rays of light shine through her soul during the darkest hours of your day

She is the song you know by heart;  every word spoken, every beat played, and every breath taken is known within the depths of your bones

She is the uncaged bird; free and flying through life without a single care in the world, ready to sing her sweet melody at any waking moment, and to bless your eyes with her surreal beauty

She is peace; her soft voice and soothing words can talk you down from jumping off the highest of cliffs and diving into the deepest of oceans without the intent of coming back up

She is love; the feeling that makes the tight chains around your heart break to pieces, leaving it open and whole

She is [insert name here]
Joy B Oct 6
How the **** is she
Supposed to be powerful
In a world where power is diminished?

She’s brave.
She’s strong.
She’s fighting against herself.

She can only see
Her flaws and her weakness.
Will she be who everyone knows she is?

Powerful and happy,
Loving and magnificent,
The light of my life.
such a simple form
your fingers take
on this face of mine.

a sweet aroma,
thin
on my lips.

and their form,
of such brevity on the flesh,
on the scars still fresh.
Mae Oct 1
Ok

Yes, it’s not all about love, or pain but surely it’s a metaphor for the depths of the halls we walk by ourselves amongst ourselves in order to confuse anyone that tries to wander too close to our hearts. Oh come on! Poetry is so pretentious.

To hide through rhythmic syllables, to share a sonnet with thee. To dedicate an entire repertoire of acoustic melodies in order to talk about her body?

Do not get me wrong, I love my fair share of dramatic soliloquies but it seems, to me that honesty has lost its value. Especially with writers. There’s no more truth anymore…no. It always has to develop into a complicated string of ideas. There was a time when writers were able to talk about a woman or lover or whatever, without invoking all the gods.

Learn how to love for what simply is
Jo Swan Sep 30
The darkness of secrets had kept me in shadows
The pain of the past had caused my family to weep
For they experienced life full of unjust woes!
Yet the Heavenly Lord has awakened me from sleep.

I hear the echoes of my forefathers’ voices,
They tell me to rise like the Mighty Sun,
It is time for me to wake and rejoice
On their legacy of what they have done.

The wise wind of fate pushes me to my destiny,
My blood burns with a new determination
As I am resurrected with a new identity
For my forefathers have impacted the entire nation

For many years I thought I was ordinary
Yet the cries of my ancestors beat like a drum-
Telling me to soar like a golden dragon.
In love and hate we have all endured and succumb

I give thanks to the heavenly divine sky
As he has given me a gift of armor made of courage.
“Awake my dear daughter”, the mighty Lord cry,
“Do not let the army of fear make you feel discourage.”

So the wind of destiny has revealed its plan
That I am to inherit their legacy,
Reclaim the throne and be the Princess of Han
For this is my destiny!

(c) 2018 Joanne Chang
Sometimes being born as a female, society  expects us to be delicate exquisite fragile flowers. Yet I realise deep within my soul, there is a female warrior princess waiting to unleash and conquer her fear!!!
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