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Some of you,
Some of you are kind
Some of you,
Some of you are mean

Mean
And this word feels insignificant
Feels childish
Feels empty, and hollow, and small, and nothing, and yet
That’s what you are,
Because that is what you have made me
Because, all of you
All of you,
Have tiny pieces of me.

To all the men that have found me,
You have found the part of me you want.
Years I have spent crafting to reflect the version of myself you want to see.
Like wrapping myself up as a present
I tailor the ribbon, the colours all for you
Am I messy?
Are my corners ripped and jagged?
Does my bow come loose?
Is my tape perfectly invisible?
Do I open with ease?
Can you guess what’s inside?
Am I something you asked for?
Do you need the receipt for an easy return?
Am I the on the wish-list?
Am I the forth pair of socks you really didn’t need?
Are you going to use me everyday?
Am I essential?
Am I just a toy?
Will I collect dust amongst the mountains of things you acquire as you gracefully move through life?
Will you remember me, pull me out amongst the stacked piles of your memories, dust me off and smile at the faint recollection of my touch?
Will you assemble me, build me up as something to be proud of, or will you leave me in the box, still scattered in pieces?
Will you recycle me, regift me, give me to charity when you’re done with me, when I don’t quite fit anymore, when I don’t quite work anymore, when I don’t quite match your aesthetic, mirror the version of yourself you want to exist as, act in accordance to your will, moan on time, smile on time, talk on time, preform on time, dance on time, laugh on time, listen on time, love on time.

Please god love me,
Please lord see me,
Please man hear me,
Please boy need me,
Want me,
Want me,
Want me.

I am so tired of being suffocated in the versions of myself I have crafted for you
men
I am so bored of reproducing the same giggle, coy smile and gentle whisper to entice you
Men
I am so fed up with hating myself before you can
Men
I am so sickened by the way I objectify myself to tailor to your high school *******
Men
I am so exhausted of reshaping my mouth to fit perfectly into yours
Men
I am so broken over not being special enough, not loud enough, not quiet enough, not brave enough, not clumsy enough, not **** enough, not coy enough, not funny enough, not stupid enough, not smart enough
Men
I am so done with writing not enough.

Like a broken music box,
My heart seems to skip over the same note on repeat
And you think it’s frustrating to your ears
Oh my god am I enraged at this same song
This same despondent pinging in which every single note seems just off

You slap me amongst your key rings and let dangle centimetres away from the lock that holds the access point to your heart
And I know I am more than just an ornament
More than just a house plant you forget to water
More than just your 2 day old Chinese food that you hope won’t make you sick
More than just that old sweater never wear but that you keep because it smells like home
More than just the at home gym equipment you bought because you said “new year, new me”
More than just your hobby,
More than just your prize,

I have spent years,
Building the small part in myself I hope someone will call home
And here you are treating it as though it is a cage

To all the men I know,
To all the men I’ve known,
I am no longer comfortable bending, reshaping, cracking, adjusting at the will of your glance
I am angry, not because I am malleable
But because your hands made me so.
Spoken word, spoken mess.
Eslam Dabank Jun 2
Spines of us sapiens connect;
     minds, arms; cause and effect.
Spines of us sapiens connect;
     thoughts, mouths, until direct.

"Deaf, blind, and roadless be,
    after one, two, lies and three" -
What beauty this is! Divine!
    Obedience and nods define.

In corpore sano, the defiled sit,
    in corpore sano, fools commit.
They speak, they speak, indeed,
    And we deem ignorance to lead.

Clean they are, gaily nice too,
    neat, and in black suits new -
the outside glimmers, shines;
    Yet the inside on filth dines.

In corpore sano, wars are 'for',
    "In death, glory we shall store".
The spring is not forgetful, no;
     Flowers ablaze; blue lips blow.

We shall not have to put in,
    with rotten blood on a skin:
Earth's skin; underneath also;
    we seek dignity, not so-so.

Saturday! tremulous Saturday!
    Since, passed not a sadder day;
European corpores, May 1948,
    With 'clean hands', ate a state.

Soap, water and towels came,  
    with the 'civilized' who aim;
humanity, and morality not;
     the core needs washing a lot.

It rules, it murders, it revives:
    the mens that all living drives;
nerves blocking nerves other,
   it is 'be satisfied or smother!'

Mens feminine's scorned being,
    consoles the higher's wellbeing.
An animal's instinct commands,
    no mens here, nor a mind stands.

Universes penetrated are they;
    in maleficence power to display.
A fight against the in chains,
    is history unjust that remains.

Violence transmitted is sick,
    it is harm you cause and tick,
look up a definition of disease,
    It is you; a dictionary agrees.

A terrified soul in health,
    is a curse, not godly wealth.
A sorrowful soul in health,
    is a fighter without stealth.

A ****** mind healthy,
    brings destruction deadly.
A corrupt mind healthy,
    is a treasure unreal, empty.

Dawn is sick of corpore sano;
    it grinds the fool with a mano.
But the mold lies within it not;
    it is in the soul breeds brought.
'In corpore sano' translates into 'a healthy body'
'Mens' is 'mind' (or 'good mind' according to the context.)

The body might be healthy, but the mind (and soul) might not. They could be corrput, evil, blind, deaf, and all that is similar, no matter how healthy and clean and shiny the outside is. In this poem, I add some example of this: feminism, Palestine and Ukraine.
Eslam Dabank Apr 19
Two planets with their two darker moons, resurrect us - 
     Each day, with the white moonrays we daren't discuss, 
Two slivers from the divine universe, a universe blue, 
     Little slivers from the forbidden universe we pursue. 

Planets beloved to the thirsty, lustful, and followers -  
    Upon glimpsing, they are not human, but wallowers!
There, they are the purest, truest, and free of lies, 
    Where embraces, forced or not, reveal the disguise. 

Life in the core, beige seas, and a moon blessing, 
     Are what is unveiled with a universe *******, 
It weeps, it bleeds stars, and breached by invaders, 
     But they care not, those ****** greedy crusaders! 

If close enough, ghostly sanity lost is what remains, 
     But blame yourself not! Blame a universe in chains!
"The dreaded desires to occupy are the poor victims",
     Said some of the species, the law and judges' dictums.

Their planets' soil is honey, we are bears longing, 
     Moons are grapes rare, and beauty we are wronging.
Withered, breathless and embroidered in oldness, 
     Are those planets, caressing fabric killing coldness. 

Non-Indigenous habitants wish to knit filth to them, 
    Impermeable the unknown are, with their ***** stem. 
They cut air, with their unclean air, as if it is theirs! 
    They are afraid of the charm, yet they want shares!

They seek them undercover, the religious, and all.
    Yet play pretend they prefer, from the US to Nepal.
Dazzling is humanity's cheerful reign on morality, 
     It is filled with nonsense, yet they shape our reality. 

Sheet yourself with an atmosphere black as smoke, 
    From the animalistic createurs close whose fire stroke. 
Knives shall be your trees that bloom, to protect, 
    And save you, from the ****** beasts you reject.

In the words above, and what is not their delusion, 
    Women are universes, divine and soaked with effusion -  
An effusion of fear, power, insecurity and greatness,
    Whose fight is wrinkled with rigidity and lateness. 

Planets two, that if shown to the eyes stop cities,  
     Anger narrowness and to wrap, form committees, 
Planets called *******, giving out milk legendary;
     Reviving of race; a continuum of us, the secondary. 
     
A man's world this is, but God's universe is not, 
    Touch not the grace bringing life to blood, you clot, 
The universe is womanhood, and refuge they seek, 
     From their womanhood defiled by thoughts oblique.
We are no damsels in distress,
Don’t you try to turn us into your mistress.
Here’s a brief outline,
Without your last name we will get by just fine.

The season of chauvinism ends here,
We will no longer live in fear.
So speak as you may, in your bitter twisted  lies.
Just like the phoenix, from our ashes we’ll rise.
Evie G Feb 23
Who here loves *******?!!!
I mean, dogs
Obviously…
Immature people.

I love ***** shows.

Seeing them all groomed to perfection, not a hair out off place
A shame some cute faces will just go to waste.
While some may whine and some may resist,
If it’s not monetised, well… does it exist?

Lined up in a row
Look at them go
Praying and hoping to win best in show, just for a itty bitty wittle headpat, while the owner gets useful things like money.
Cause a dog can’t use money, that’s just silly

Nails perfectly trimmed
Intelligence dimmed
Watch how they walk with a little trot, so proud of themselves,
its like they forgot they only have the same rights as their owners in 6 countries.
But dogs don’t need equal working rights, that’s just silly

Look its absurd
When they whine all their words
Clogging up space with their frilly likes and their silly ums that totally like inconveniences like everyone because they have to um like listen to a ***** talk for um longer than they like totally like um have to like ***.

But they aren’t so bad, especially when you’ve had
A ***** that wont behave, a ***** that’s gone mad
Howling at the moon with their wandering wombs
It’s like there’s no party, only balloons.
If a ***** wears pants, do they go on all fours
Or do they get sent home for showing more than their paws.

Gasp at how they growl, protecting their hairy bodies, which, silly them, they don’t own.

They must be culled
Anger dulled
Knock in their thick skulls they are nothing but a *****.

We all love ***** shows, we love the ******* even more.
So come on ladies, get down on all fours.
amber Jan 4
sixteen
Innocent and sweet
But only to you
Was I seductive and a treat

seventeen
You said to your mates again
“What I would do to her if she was legal”
What a bad first impression of men
Barren Woman,
You are no Woman!
For what is Woman without her seed!

To carry, grow and breed mans leech.
A walking incubator, our bodies shaped
To case the seed, that’s all they see.

They worship the curves, the wide hips,
Thigh girth, the bearing breast defines our worth.
Drooling they leer, wishing to **** it up and gulp it in.

Latching on as though we are any mans mother,
To coddle, cradle and satisfy until
The curled foetus crawls out of the womb crying,

Stands up and stretches into the shape of a man,
And calls us weak
                     And says stay in your place, woman.
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