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Brianna Duffin Dec 2017
This creature…
She lurks just around the corner
Her lips painted to perfection and pursed to prissiness
Her hips hosting hands, polished nails the color of Hell’s fire
Her eyes wild and dark, so full and deep, intricate curtains over the windows to her soul
Her hair cascading wild but under the chokehold of her need for control, constantly
And her entire existence… just

This creature…
She is a creature of the night, no doubt
But she is an essence of the broad sunlight
And she was designed to be the center of attention
But is simultaneously inclined to favor solitude
She craves affection, attention, validation, and such
But values her independence, her privacy so very much

This creature…
She knows no name.
She knows herself.
~70th poem published~
This is a really interesting one to me. Let me know what you think in the comments.
Marissa Dec 2017
I wear this face like armor
Painting it with the blood, sweat, and tears
Of those who dare to come after me
These colors are not a mating call
But a warning
They distract
They scream
"My touch is toxic"
"My taste is like poison"
I am not the beautiful flower
I am the stinging bee
This war paint is not for you
It is for me
I can no longer walk the streets with confidence
Brianna Duffin Dec 2017
She glimmered in so many ways,
And she hid no part of herself.

She motivated a hundred men to come running,
And she sent them running right back home.

She created a raw art form out of her being,
And she powered it with her energy.

She developed herself in a constant determination to grow,
And made it her mission to spread this change.

She dreamed up a world all her own in her mind’s eye,
And built it to reality with her own bare hands.

She blossomed from the lap of pure luxury,
And redefined everything about it.

She may have been built from diamonds, but there was more to her!
She had been fashioned from saturated starlight.
Ameerah Holliday Dec 2017
When the darkness came,
     They all forgot light -
     fear seems to suffocate
     and what’s left is not right.
They held their fist
     back lashed in what
     They know, set aside their freedom
     and forgot that They could glow.
A T Bockholdt Dec 2017
so cool and gold
these hoops dance,
on the edge
of my shoulders.
they match, my skin.
they set fire,
to your son.
they are loved.
they are loud,
against my ears.
they are the only
cuffs, ill ever wear
these. gold hoops
are always proud,
oh, yes, my gold
hoops, give me power.
they swing with my step,
glint with my smile,
circle around your mind and
leave you to hang.
This is part of collection for a senior portfolio project at CU Denver
Project is intended to represent the stylistic distinctions of great American poets through the imitation of their poetics and/or their subject matter

Lucille Clifton is an important feminist, as well as, racial writer. Her works encompass the conscious break from traditional standards which she exhibits in the playful brevity of her poetry, and purposeful lack of punctuation. "homage to my hips," is one of her most anthologized poems representative of her power as a black woman in the world. My imitation, "homage to my gold hoops," are representative of my own race-*** relations in the world I live in. The negative connotation that gold hoops have gained over time (e.g. "the bigger the hoop the bigger the ***") is an example of removing power from a female object and lending it to the male point of view. In this poem, as I do everyday, I take this power back with my gold hoops.
Benjamin Bauda Nov 2017
Woman
They pamper us,
From the belly to the grave,
From nothing to something,
Transforming our cry to laughter,
Making us smile in soft and hard times,
Thats why He called them our Helpmate,
They are special and awesome.

Their words are soothing and comforting,
To the Baby and the baby.
We are happy to be around them,
Both young and old, little and big,
All to their bossoms we fly.
For in them lies our nutrients and strength.

Her creator called her woman,
Her husband calls her sweetheart,
Her children call her mother,
She is one of a kind,
The cause of man's trouble, the help behind his triumph,
Hate her, love her you still love her because you need her.
She is God's first gift to man,
And we all love her,
She is a woman.
For all the great women in my life
lynnia hans Nov 2017
you smell like vanilla cupcakes
taste like cherry doused kisses
laced with sandalwood and honey
sprinkled with edible sugar glitter
too sweet to resist or let go
Tyler Grace Nov 2017
the moon does not weep for the fallen stars

instead she glistens in memory of a time they too shined as bright as she

she does not allow their dullness to dim such glow

do not permit others to do this as to you
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