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ollie Aug 4
i am one of my own
what has been decided for me
and yet what i cannot be
if only because i cannot be it right

becoming a scavenger,
i pick apart what remains
from the carcass of femininity
clawing and ripping and tearing
and taking from gender
whatever i desire
for what has gender done for me?
aside from putting on a collar
and controlling my every move
deciding what i do
and how and when and why i do it

stealing what i can
and turning it upside down
looking starlit and airy
while still solid with rage
and being oh so tender with her
and protective from the rest
raccoon eyes and evening gowns
leather boots and lace socks
i havent been on here for a while but im back to post more *** poetry because im a big **** and my dearest bought me minecraft
hi Jul 1
She once let the world see her as a glass, fragile, delicate, transparent. She used to pray like God was listening. She used to make her parents proud. Until she was caught between two things: Who she needs to be and who she wants to be.

She was daisies, calm and safe
But she wanted to be a rose, confident and wild.
Into the forest she goes... to lose her mind and find her soul.

"You've change for the worst", they say.

Why should she apologize for being the monster that she is, when nobody apologized for turning her into one?..

She was not born to be soft and scared,
She was born to make the world change
To have it shatter and shake in her fingertips.

It's for you to decide whether she's heaven wrapped in hell
Or hell wrapped in heaven.

You may not believe in magic, but wait till you see her.
Her heart was never this brave, she dances with her Devils, they call her "Queen".

She had been in so many heartbreaks that her own heart learned how to saw. Forgotten flowers in lonely gardens, grow wicked blooms. She is fragile in nature, But that's what made her powerful, she made a fragile thing unbreakable. She wears her strength and darkness equally well. She's half Goddess, and half hell.

//K.P, 07022019
jcl May 10
which one was i, the meddlesome moth or the bumbling butterfly
was i instinctively drawn, to an open flame, on a lonely night
or, caught in intricately, meticulously, woven spider’s web
how could i avoid either fate, all men are dumb and succumb, as did i
both end the same, in death, only one is fast, the other slow
how sweet it was, to have kissed her lips, to have been, her lover
Jade Sep 2018
As women we are conditioned to love what breaks us
Because unconditional love isn’t a skill to be cultivated,
It’s an expectation we so painfully fill.

As women we are told that there is meaning in our silence.
That our beauty lies within what stays untold,
That our voices limit our inherent value.

As women we must mold ourselves
Into one of a hundred cookie cutter
Versions of the same person that
We deem an acceptable form of femininity.
They tell us that this is our identity
When really it’s a way to make ourselves

As women we must apologize for conformity
And we must apologize for breaking away.
The female population lacks the luxury
Of confidence without judgement
Because we fear it won’t make us as simple.

As women we are tailored to please the world.
The burden we carry aches with all of the moments
We wish we could have done something different and didn’t.
I am tired of the rules.
I am tired of the chains.
This is more political than my poems usually are but whatever
RBWhite Jul 2018
El amor que salvó el mundo,
Con sabor y textura propia,
Nunca nadie me dijo qué se podía encontrar debajo del velo *****,
Desnudo entre los valles y mares más  profundos,
En donde su silueta se dibuja en las incontables superficies,
No importa la bruma del terror que la rodea,
Pues el indómito rubor de los rayos del sol se asoman por las curvas del cielo,
Y tengo a los ojos de Ella,
Guiándome y Cuidando mis pasos.
La idea católica de un Dios masculino.  Pero nacido de Ella,de un amor infinito.
Pao May 2018
you are a storm in the sea around you
my words don't express much
but your eyes twinkle in the starlight
heavenly, even the gods are envious of you
your heart of gold beats louder than any lion in the wild

it's all you
it's you whom they want
it's you whom they seek
enticing, your thoughts bigger than your own words
you are celestial  

take your hand in mine
twiddle with my thumb
i'll keep your heart in my palm
i'll keep you warm
safe, even build you a home

a woman sculpted out of ocean waves  
you are celestial
I believe I wrote this in 2016 and I was working on telling a story in poetry. I write poems about my experiences but sometimes it doesn't have to be that way. I wanted to paint a picture to the readers even though what I am writing about has never happened to me. This is for the femme fatale.
sara May 2018
Hair long and dark like a silken night,
her eyes glazed over, lips pastel silent.
Every so often sips a cold long island,
no jazz musician but her feet tap in time and
she's skin like China, won't crack even for a smile.
While people try to please her she will only check the time and
she's not a people pleaser for she'll bore within a while.
Perfume carried by the breeze,
she's freezing, smoking outside.
Her cheeks are apple red but her eyes, quitely tired.
She claims your jokes are dead and then she'll laugh like bitter cider-
a bittersweet pink lady brought to life beneath the night's limelight
the apple of the eye of every single man in sight

He'll ask her if she knows this song
and she replies 'no, not tonight.'
He'll ask if she enjoys herself.
Blankly, she says 'yes, quite.'

The room a-brim with deep jazz sounds:
she sings sweet melodies aloud,
she sways as if no one's around,
she sighs, it doesn't make a sound.
Pourquoi pas?

Metre based on the new arctic monkeys album
Rahama Apr 2018
The heart of a dragon;
A young girl tames.
Her femme fatale;
Will be the end of him.
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