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Refusal turned her brokenhearted. She couldn't held
the water
drip from her
eyes. Had
her swim in
pool of her
tears. Wrestle
not with a girl,
stay aloof,
refusal hit
her harder than
any huge
cork could
make her
yell for apology.
However to
husband his
wife ought
tobe a man's
first duty all
day everyday long.
I have touched a thousand times
but I know when I feel your love
you are the only one to ever touch me
in this way I've never felt before.
To be yours
I'll give up who I've been and who I was
for who you are
and who I will become.
You surrender to me your strength
and are as gentle as a dove
I am your fragile flower
and you protect me with all your love.
I will always bring you up
and cherish you for the man you are
and the man that you will become,
I will be the foundation
for what you build
until thy kingdom come.
I will always be yours
and you forever mine.
Together til the end of time.
in this love called: love
my knight and king,
your flower queen
together we'll conquer the world
just you and me.
Dedicated to my forever love at last: husband I love you <3
Alicia Mar 23
hot breath on the curve of my spine
your arms pull heavy like an anchor
under heavily weighted sheets we bind
limbs entangled like deep-running roots of an elm
follow the ends to where we begin
your heart at my back beating rhythmic songs of satisfaction
my head tilted sideways listening to each calm exhale
you sleep like an angel as my fingers peck the keyboard
Alicia Mar 17
sheets rustle with movement
his strong arm reaches across the bed
the smell of wood and sage in the air
soft skin slides across the worn washed linen
taunt muscles relax into his body
near breathless whispers in my ear
confirmations of stars in the sky
constellations and the universe
nothing in creation compares
to you and me in our bed
For my husband
My loneliness is drawn deeply from a well
bottomlessly plunged into singledom.
Staring into the well's abyss
I discern my beloved future husband
is not in this one
Y'all da struggle of single living is Real! it's a hot mess out here!
fireheart Feb 21
I look for you in the sun rise,
Your face in cloud formation.
I feel your kiss as the light crests,
Your soul shining on the horizon.

Yet the sun does not warm my skin,
The way your breath warms my face;
You holding my head in your hands,
As we lock in our embrace.
Written for my husband on Valentine's Day
Love you
Every moment
For life
Is the leitmotif
Of my life
My dear wife
I don't know
Ironing clothes
Please do these
For me
Whole life
I haven't
Been trained
By anyone
At home
School and
Love you
Every moment
For life
Is the leitmotif
Of my life
Please do
These favours
And oblige
Terms and Conditions
Maria Jan 28
Most girls dream of a knight in shining armor
Charging gallantly to her rescue atop a noble steed
But, I never asked for Prince Charming
To come riding in on a white horse.
After all, I wasn’t raised with fairytales.

Instead, We’re living in a modern day adventure
Reliant heavily on Tinder.
I sent an Uber to 3rd Street
So a likely homeless man could do his laundry
Only to learn that love always prevails.

I was promised laughter and cuddles;
There is still plenty of both.  
You are my slayer of dinosaurs,
Hand clapping copilot,
And giver of sandpaper kisses.

Together there are grins and giggles,
And strength in tears and prayers.
You are the one my soul longed for.
The best day of my life
Is when I became your Mrs.

I married a homeless man from Tinder,
And the biggest irony is:
I’ve never been more at home
Than when I’m in his arms.
And that’s better than any fairytale ever written.
kiran goswami Jan 18
Her job always has had an inflated demand
and ironically surplus production too.

The men’s job, I wonder if
it is their hobby or job.
So, the men’s job has demand amongst themselves
and production too.

Hers is a common and a well-reputed career,
until it is achieved.

The men or at least a man
might choose not to opt
for this career.

She, however, has no choice, as always.

So, she looks at her ancestors,
Her great grandmother who was a wife.
Her grandmother who was a wife.
Her mother who was a wife.
Now, she too has chosen this job.

There is no other choice, of course.

This job has not been her job
since history began.
This job has been her job
since her-story began.

Her job does not require
travelling nations and crossing borders.

Her job requires
Confined, caged, in-home.

That’s home for him,
not home for her.

That’s her experimental laboratory,
She conducts experiments.
That’s her cricket field,
She plays.
That’s her hospital,
She cures and treats.
That’s her restaurant,
She cooks.
That’s her engineering workshop,
She creates and invents.
That’s her writing room,
She writes.

And that’s her prison too.

And in this prison,
she is her own jailer.

Her job requires only
a few tasks to be taken care of.
Tasks assigned to her sound easy and self-fulfilling.
But she must do them dutifully.
For she, is a wife now.

Nothing more,
Nothing less,
a wife.

But her husband,
is not just a husband.
He is a man.
The man.
A child.
An experimenter,
A cricketer,
A doctor,
A chef,
An engineer,
A writer,

A politician and A king.

And his kingdom,
belongs only to him.

In this highly reputed job,
this only job that she is supposed to have,
and stay loyal to,
with her body and soul,
she is expected; expected of a lot
but never supposed to expect from
and express to.

So, she is expected to not wish.
Because wish leads to worry or somehow even vanity.
Wish kills her work
and that is her tagged happiness.

Thus, she must work,
so, she is called happy.

She must be a wife,
so, she has something worth living.

Her job is the one that requires
her to reach nirvana,
before she starts living.

It is not forced upon her
to choose this job.
It is bought to her
in a jewellery box,
as a necklace,
that she continues to wear
even after it hides the tattoo of her personality,
carved on her neck;
chokes her every time she tries to speak
and eats her words before she births them.

She still, however, continues to wear this necklace
because she has been conditioned
“Beauty is pain, Pain has beauty.”

Songs like “beloved wife” and “my wife”,
make her love her job, but hate herself.
So, she listens to them over and over again.

She avoids reading the newspaper or watching the news
because she knows that if she reads them,
no husband, not even her own,
would be able to look at her in the eye.
And she will not be able to look at them without crying (or killing).

In her job, a resignation letter is the same
as being expelled.
So, it is made sure
that if she takes such a step,
she is not capable of moving anymore.

But out of all these, what makes her job the funniest
is the irony within.
Like she has freedom
but should not be free for her freedom.
Like she is protected but from others
in danger of her own self.
Like she has all the happiness
but she shouldn’t smile too much or make any noise when she laughs.
Like she is a wife
but she is not loved and has done nothing to deserve that love.

What was her mistake that she should not be loved, you ask.
Well, nothing and perhaps everything.

Sometimes, when she is tired and exhausted of her job,
and you go ahead to ask her
“what is more difficult, to be a wife or to be a mother”
She would look at you, for not more than 10 seconds,
and say,
“to be a woman”.

If there is something, she needs to be wary of,
It is people and words.
Because there are certain words,
that if used for her,
would disrobe her in a public square,
where her husband
would be a witness
or perhaps a member of the disrobers.

So, all she should be wanting
to be called
is a word or a name,
to get disrobed by just him
or disrobe herself only for him.
There is much scope in that.

In her job,
she is expected not to wish.
But she does.
She wishes too much sometimes
and on somedays,
just one thing.

She wishes not to be his wife
or ‘a wife’ at all.

But she does nothing more than to wish.
She cannot do anything more.
Because her job always has had an inflated demand
and ironically surplus production too.
femininefiction Dec 2020
I think we were born to be

a purple red tangerine smile

You make me speak out loud

Baby, you taste like innocence  

When you kiss me with your eyes

And make me love you

Enough to grow old

In our revelations of ecstasy

You reminded me of the angel in my soul

Instead of the woman who I turned out to be

A mellow euphoria of eternal light

I think we were born to be

a purple red, tangerine smile

You make me speak out loud

My sweet honey

You’ve become my home.
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