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Amanda French Apr 2018
My body, should be my temple
But why does it belong to someone else?
It belongs to the man who stared too long
It belongs to the man hitting on me in front of his wife
It belongs to the man who put his hand on my ***, even though he couldn’t be bothered with knowing my name
It belongs to the man who kept asking after I just said no
My body isn’t my body
It belongs to men I barely know
Jiawen 张 Sep 2017
I cut my hair short.
I got more peace inside.
No makeup on my face,
No fake confidence in my heart.
        
I am no longer that little girl,
Who would ask a boy
"You like my hair long or short?"
I am no longer that little girl,
who acts accordingly to please a boy.
I cut my hair because it’s my hair.
      
I am just who I am.
The less I own,
The less I can hide.
The more I throw away,
The more I can have.
      
To stop acting like a wanted girl,
To have more time in my life,
To gain more peace in my heart,
I cut my hair short like a male.
I am a woman who I love.
zero Mar 2018
The tide and her wave of emotion.
The hands that once held me now goes for
the jugular, to cut.
The swift, rough swipe of the
razor causes an outpour of unstoppable feelings,
fleeting forth from my face,
It lands upon an infant that lay
crying in my right hand,
screaming, it yearns for the breast of
knowledge and safety,
The craving for intimacy and affection,

The Insuppressible,

Indistinguishable,

Need for Want,
And Want for Need, all the same.
Can you give her it?

Will you?

-Z.xo
XPY Apr 2018
You can pretend
That the black gloss
On my lashes
Will glue my eyes shut-
Make me blind to truth;
To ‘true knowledge.’
Go ahead.
Tell yourself
That my red-painted lips
Only spout nonsense.
It will only make it sweeter
When my wing-lined eyes
Give you whiplash
as I walk past you
To get my degree;
My award;
My paycheck.
Maybe if you’re ‘nice’
I’ll buy you an ice pack.
feminist makeup
© KMH 2018
Cassandra Lane Mar 2018
Darling,
You were born in the vision of Clara Barton
In the success of Joan of Arc and Malala
In the memory of Anne frank
You were born for greatness
And for remembrance
You were born for more than you will be given
You were born for weightlessness
But given legs of stone to keep you from flying too high
Born with a heart of gold
Painted bronze
You
Were born for beauty
For Mona Lisa’s smile
But felt like Picasso
Rearranged and imperfect

Darling I hate to tell you
But you will never be treated equally to men
I’ve been told I’m stupid because I’m a girl
And I've held the door at gas stations for men who called me baby
And told me I'd be prettier if I smiled
Men will always look at you like property
Like they are owed a piece of you just for existing
Like you're too gentle to fend for yourself
But darling I have news for you
You belong to no one but yourself
You were born in the vision of Clara Barton who never wed
In the success of Joan of arc
Who was only 17 when she was commander of a French army
And Malala who was only 17 when she won the Nobel peace prize for saying words that could have killed her
Anne frank was 16  when she was murdered
Do you think she was thinking of what she owed men?
No. She took a hammer to her legs of stone and peeled the paint from her heart of gold
She was the Mona Lisa's smile
She changed the world
And darling you can do the same
Break through the stone and the bronze
And be the Mona Lisa

But darling
If someone tells you you aren’t smart
Or a stranger tells you you'd be prettier if you smiled
And you start to feel rearranged and imperfect
Remember
Picasso made art too.
Saddal Diab Mar 2018
To live in this world
That perpetually suspects and inspects
To live in cycles
Once a rose
Soon a wilting flower, dregs, and left overs.

This is no place for woman
Woman
Of man, made from man’s ribs
Woman
Deficient in thought and temperament
I think of Virginia Woolf and Sylvia Plath
And the conjecture imposes itself
This is no place for  brilliant women

What at once should be resplendent  
Stunts and sedates
Because the climate
Cannot reconcile with woman.
Dipendu Das Mar 2018
Let not her radiant eyes hide withal acute tears,
Which can induce mine heart withal betimes fears,
Fears which abide withal sadness and tears...

Let not her pale pink lips fades it's priority,
Which can led mine mind withal the place where love resides,
Love which abide withal respect and care besides...

Let not her beauty be seen in a ****** mole,
As her beauty reflects in her soul,
Soul which abide withal sweetest goal...

Let not her curly hair be align withal pretty looks,
Which can induce mine love just as the romantic books,
Book where love and respect depends on how she looks...

Let not love her for the way she look,
Not for the reason she took,
Love just for the way she walks in the honesty and truth,

She's walking in beauty...
She's walking in beauty.
Love her for her honesty, truth and sweetness. Not for the reason how she looks..
Rachel Feb 2018
Her hips are the sun
Planets rotating around her axis
     falling off into black holes
         each time she loses Herself in those dark orbs
Those cursed humanoid black holes
That **** in her planets
Leaving nothing but a dying sun
But soon that is gone too
Leaving nothing but particles of stars
Thoughts never formed into words
But sung about
In other men's poetry
Creating worlds and words she spoke
That never existed in the first place
The Galaxy Woman
The myth that plays chords in men's delirious fantasies
Aaron LaLux Feb 2018
Man,

Man has certainly caused too much hurt already,
abused every position of power,
in every possible way,
turned outrageously courageous women into inwardly awkward cowards,

how awkward,
that Man would attack,
the very Ones,
that birthed Him,

how many wars have woman started,
how many drilling expeditions have been led by females,
but then again I guess it’s fitting that Men do the drilling,
wanting to enter into Mother Earth the Devil’s in the details,

see Men always seem to want to enter everything,
like a Hermit Crab into a seashell,
and I’m a Man so I share the guilt,
which is maybe why I don’t feel well,

see I am so ashamed,
and sometimes I’m embarrassed I even have a *****,
I regret so much Collective Man’s past aggressions,
like a past life regression I still have visions of my bad decisions,

and I’m tired of making bad decisions,

heck I’m tired of making any decisions,
I’m tired of leading expeditions,
I’m tired of going to a beautiful place like a lake,
and when I go there all I do is start fishing,

why do I have this impulse,
to catch beautiful things,
to bait them then hook them then take them,
why do I find the meaning of life to involve killing?

No problems will be solved if they involve,
taking the life of a living being that’s not willing…

What’s wrong with me,
are all Men predators,
do all men want to conquer mountains,
hook fish and eat steak cooked ****** rare?

This blood lust is just fckt I few us with disgust,
all this forward progress thinking seems backwards,
I mean even this otherwise beautiful blank space here,
can’t be left alone without me wanting to add ink black words,

well blah blah blah,
and hardy ha ha ha,
it’s so sad I’ve gone mad but I’m still glad,
because the home team’s still winning rah rah rah,

got all the trophies,
got all the glory,
got all the medals,
got all the power,

all the Women have been laid,
all the Beasts have been slayed,
all the Money’s been made,
all the Players have been paid,

I’m the King Don Juan Gansta Baller Man,
KDJGBM for short,
I got girls at every club,
and players on every court,

got gold chains,
and money wads wrapped in rubber bands,
got a flashy car complete with leather trim,
it’s fitting when the skin of a cow wraps around the ride that I’m in,

given that we’ve killed the Holy Cow to get the cream,
because we don’t hold anything sacred anymore,
well nothing except for the All Mighty Dollar,
made all this money but don’t know what we made it all for,

I guess we made more money to make more war,
treated our fellow Men as enemies and our fellow Women as ******,
I guess absolute power does corrupt absolutely,
and at the end of the day really what was it all for,

because once we’ve neglected every Woman in our life,
and treated wrong every Woman that ever treated us right,
and we’re all alone at home dying in our own body with no one by our bedside,
who will we run to to nurse us back to health and hold us tight,

that’s right,
likely a woman,
so when will we realize,
we can accept them without having to understand them,

Women,
are meant to be accepted not understood,
Men,
have done enough bad already it’s time for some good,

I know I for one am ready to surrender,
let the Women have control,
because I no longer trust myself,
to keep dear everything we hold,

so I open up,
I surrender,
I let the Feminine in,
and I let Love conquer,

because,

it’s time for some healing,
and that’s not going to come from the Masculine,
the only way we’ll collectively heal our humanity,
is with the Most High power of The Divine Feminine,

it is finally time let the lead be taken by Women,

Man has certainly caused too much hurt already,
abused every position of power,
in every possible way,
turned outrageously courageous women into inwardly awkward cowards,

how awkward,
that Man would attack,
the very Ones,
that birthed Him,

how many wars have woman started,
how many drilling expeditions have been led by females,
but then again I guess it’s fitting that Men do the drilling,
wanting to enter into Mother Earth the Devil’s in the details…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

The New Book Is FREE Here: https://www.scribd.com/document/367036005/The-Sydney-Sessions-12-Steps
cecelia Feb 2018
darling, i know they will tell you
your body is a temple
but they will forget that this temple has
sapphire roads
leading to incessant pounding of a fist
on iron gates of your heart
your marble columns and ivory floors will crumble
t h u m p  t h u m p  t h u m p
through the kudzu constricting your lungs
do not force yourself to breathe thorns
when you feel inadequate

darling, i know your body is a temple
but they will forget that this temple has
splintery bridges spanning the deepest chasms
of a mind carved from gold
it is easy for the slightest bit of heat to melt
your thoughts until they pour as thick as molasses
into your ivy misshapen lungs
it is okay to have your fruits plucked from you
and roots destroyed
when you can rebuild
again

darling, i know they will tell you
your body is a temple
but they will forget that this temple has been mined
from replenished caverns and forged
by a deadlier inferno still raging within
your flames will be fanned by the winds of change
because you finally
learned to breathe air
after you have cleared the garden
growing deadly in your lungs
do not be afraid of those who have destroyed you
when you have a fire in your eyes and oxygen in your veins
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