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Xphaedos Apr 13
When you have sat so long with a dinner knife and fork poised around your neck, how can you not expect to be eaten?

If your stomach growls and you are told all your life to remain silent, how do you know when to start speaking for yourself?

When your ribs practically carve themselves, pushing into the soft canvas of your skin, screaming to get out, and you have been told you do not deserve to eat - how do you know when you should?

How did you ever know you had the option to begin with?

And when you figure it out, how can they not expect anything less than anger? How can they not expect fear, distrust?

They can't seem to decide what you are.

You've been treated as a kenneled hound dog all your life, been told that baring your teeth was wrong, been told that you bark too loudly, sit too widely.
You've been treated as a show dog, led around on the arm of someone, never to look, never to breathe, never to think. To start dogfights. They laugh in their booths with money raised in clenched fists - it's entertainment and their bet is on whoever's teeth is the sharpest but both of you have had your teeth filed down for generations. Still, you fight, because it is all you've known.

You've been trained to not even be perceived as human, to not even perceive yourself as human, had orders barked at you your whole life but when you try to protest, you're told that you are arrogant and selfish.

Even then, some of them will continue the slow march of bringing the silverware ever closer, metal scraping against the table because they see the fight as a challenge. They like to play with their food, it's tag and you're it. You can pretend all you want that you're the main course, the whole meal, but that doesn't change that you will still, in the end, get ripped apart. Ripped to shreds, to pieces, violated even further when you thought it could never happen. That it could never get worse.

People tell you that they are just as much victims. They need the money from betting to survive, even if it's from betting on losing dogs with dull teeth and dull eyes. They tell you that you need to love them more and they will be kinder. That they will stop treating you the way they have. That they will stop being entitled.

But all you've ever done is loved, loved with your entire being, and nothing has ever changed.
I wanted to write a poem that captured the feeling of being a woman. I recently had a debate with someone in which they told me that generalization is harmful and unproductive, especially when men are also victims of the patriarchy. And I wanted to write a poem that said acknowledged that they were but that it still doesn't excuse for **** or violence. For stalking, for being entitled.
Trojan Aug 2021
Teach them holes are for hiding
And they'll hide
They'll hide and cower
Cower and cry

Once danger strikes
In their holes - they'll hide
Crying, pleading
Hoping it'll pass them by

Teach them holes are for hiding
And don't expect them to fight
When danger strikes
And they're stuck in their pits

August, 2021
Francie Lynch Mar 15
I believe in her.
Not in supplication or prayer,
But because she cares
About every countless hair,
Every fallen sparrow
And unopened flower.
I believe
In her power,
Her daily miracles.
She cries wet tears,
Her heart beats blood,
Her hands open and close
Around **** or rose.
She's no ****** deity;
She's not ascended beyond reach.
Not an image of pity,
Craddling a bruised and ****** body
(Though she would).
She is flesh and thought.
I believe
Because she is real;
Because I need to.
Megan Parson Mar 8
Violet, like the bruises you've hidden.
Indigo, like the dark circles you've overwritten.
Blue, like the opinions they've seen zoned.
Green, like the jealousy you've known.
Yellow, like the golden cage you fly in.
Orange, like the red flags you've seen.
Red, like paint when you bleed.

Do we add colour to your life,
Or do you colour ours?
A women's day & holi write. Question is, can a few days make up for centuries worth of oppression? I hope we remember the women in our lives everyday, & not just on women's day. © Megan Parson 2023
In his reflection I am inadequate
He casts onto me a veil of insecurity
Ordained with cheap mascara and gloss
I'm a concubine in the eyes of all

I play second fiddle to dissolvable filler
To bombshell bras and Facetune
So I give in to my materialistic desires
And I weep at my stellar mediocrity

They have recast my name with phrases
Categorized by a pornographic imperative
Petite brunette or ***** blonde
Our cuts of meat all marketed the same.

The rat race of womanhood has no victor
The treadmill will keep going
Only when I'm aging and forgotten
Will I breathe the fresh air of youth

Though still, I do not hate the other women
Only the man who sold me their lives.
I am so tired
Darcy Lynn Jan 9
the first time i felt like a woman
the ends of my fingers polished, lashes crusted to the sky, and sticky gloss that glued my mouth shut,
cotton bullets on strings in cardboard casings and demonstrations of crushed
flower petals—feminine virtue
defined by the presence of a *****

the first time i felt like a woman
fingers curling around the rubber fetus in
my pocket, nine year old hand
pressed to my nine year old womb, as
my classmate’s mother, donning culottes
and the armor of God, issued
Psalm 139 bookmarks to the class

the first time i felt like a woman
the stain of Life, wine dark and blooming
across my blue Fruit of the Loom’s
during fifth grade band class, at home
my mother demanding to know why i didn’t tell her of my first period, she asks if
i am a compulsive liar and leaves the
Wal-Mart bag in my room, unaware she
bought me the wrong bra size

the first time i felt like a woman
my first love said “I’m not putting it away until you touch it” and i hear his voice
when i check for ankle slashers
under my car before i climb in

the first time i felt like a woman
in tenth grade the chapel speaker’s mouth saying “the most precious thing a woman can give to a man is her body” to a room full of teenagers, i wonder if
my future husband sits among us,
and if he wonders what i look like naked

the first time i felt like a Woman,
my girlhood had to die.
Nabi Dec 2022
a girl in her teens
promised the world
the biggest of dreams
she'd build a skyscraper
farthest from ground
her name in each paper
fills all ears a buzzing sound

but she was just a girl in her teens

in a world that  knows no promises
and owes no one their dreams
the tallest of skyscrapers are already built

by a man born farthest the ground
who owns the papers
who makes all sounds
Elle Aug 2022
Look at him through fluttering eyelashes
Be docile
Be his doll
Sweet, supple, submissive

Tell him of his brilliance
Tell him he's the only one
Let your thoughts become his words
His words, his brilliance
Not yours

What is his will be valued
You will be valued
For being his
Not yours

Speak up but not over him
Your thoughts are his words
His words his brilliance
Stay sweet, supple, submissive
His, not yours

You speak too much
Your lips are not meant to be used
Unless for him
and his pleasure
His, not yours

You think too much of your pain
Destitution of recognition
Unless it be in empathy of his pain
Yours will have no value
His, not yours

You spoke over him, not up
Your words are not valued
unless they become his brilliance
His, not yours

You are becoming autonomous
Remember who you are
Fluttering eyelashes
Supple body
Never your own
Only his
His, not yours
Evie G Aug 2022
When he says I’m not fat ,
but a bit overweight.
When I’m hot enough to ****,
but never to date.

When I am called brave for just wearing a dress,
But they say I’ll lose weight just after that stress.

Because I am called brave cause I dare to exist.
Because my fat hand can’t fit right around my fat wrist.

No matter what’s won
Theres just more to lose.
Never cry love, only sing blues
Cause fat, when in love, is the funniest sight
Reserved for comedians on a dark and late night.

Because I am a journey waiting to happen
Because I am not a person,
just a fat one.

When I’ve drawn out in sharpie where I’d take the scissors.
When In social settings I start to wither,

When somebody thin starts to talk about weight
My heart starts to race,
And reddens my face,
What if I am called out and called a disgrace.

Because if they are disgusting when they are size 8
Then what am I?

So Please,
allow me a moment to breathe,
Reset, internally scream.

Then smile back, polite as can be.
Because you refuse to understand what it’s like to be me.
Evie G Jul 2022
Pull up your shirt,
Put them away.
Though it’s the same shirt some girl wore yesterday,
It’s different cause her frame is dainty and chaste,
It’s just your biology causes disgrace.

Leered at by Men,
Jeered at by girls,
Disdained by Authority , making them hurl
Told to be thankful by those less endowed
While men get their wanksfull from staring in crowds .
Cause showing a shoulder
that means I deserved it,
Cause showing my body means I don’t deserve ****.

Pull up your shirt,
Put them away.
There’s nothing to do, nothing to say.
You’ll never look pretty but Hey it’s okay!
You’ll look **** or manly or just plain perverse
I’m tryna explain all my feelings in verse,

So why can’t I just say it?

Stop staring at my *****,
Some people need to hear this one.
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