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Carlo C Gomez Dec 2019
At a party, a gym,
anywhere the lighting is dim.
Along the shore, down in the subway,
during an overnight stay.
On Christmas morning,
by the fire where she's warming...

She is the hunted.

Amidst war, conflict, and revolution,
in the confessional during absolution.
For retribution or initiation,
after a movie premiere's celebration.
In the pool, the jacuzzi,
when drugged and woozy...

She is the hunted.

When did the female species
become a personal plaything?
An implicit right of lords, masters, and kings?
A gratification tool to sadists & seducers,
ego-fed athletes, even film producers?

She is the hunted...
in this cathedral of misogyny,
an unholy ground where hands
can never come clean.

At what age, Malusha, did your little boy
become a ******?
Malusha Malkovna was the mother of Vladimir the Great, who in c. 978 infamously ***** Ragnhild, the prince of Polotsk's daughter.
Blake Dec 2019
You basked in the wide stares of seeking glaze,
in the sensual touch,
that could be felt from the most vast distances,
your clocks of youthful imaginations,
spun the ticks of all that could become between you,
just from a gaze of two strangers that lasted a second,
but sometimes felt like fate deciding minutes.

Whether it was upon the street passing a slight bump between you,
or the man in the library who picked up one of your favorite books,
a stranger...a friend...or an acquaintance that made you smile once,
a person your age,
or a man who maybe had more years carved into his structure,
the thought expressed within you at that exact moment,
was always a fantasy of love that one day you hoped be reality.

But somewhere a foggy area between the past and the present,
the framework ticked dramatically into a newer vision that,
dulled but quickened the senses,
that lock of eyes that made blushed cheeks,
that engineered the warm shiver that went from head to feet,
altered in a way that made once curling toes,
walk faster with rushed speed.

In that grey area between the past and present...somewhere,
made those seeking eyes become one of a predator,
those Eden loving dreams turned into warning images,
of dark alleyways,
footsteps that climbed up your spine in the night,
torment of a stolen body

I wonder when you changed,
when did those cute half smiles become signs of future blood,
of bleeding out if you returned the slightest hint,
was it growth?
was it knowledge of the world?
or was it experiences?
what was it?

What made those locked eyes go from 'plans'
to..."what the hell is he planning"
Sabila Siddiqui Jul 2019
I didn't like the way you glanced,
I didn't like the way you gazed,
l didn't like the way you whispered to
the other man's ear.

I didn't like the comments you made,
I didn't like the vibe you were giving my way,
I didn't like the way you smiled.

But you didn't care
that I didn't like.
You didn't care, who I was.
You just didn't care,
because you stepped close anyways
Sabila Siddiqui Jul 2019
I don't understand how the victim is the one to be blamed, as the predator goes off easily. The sensitive ones blamed for how they feel as their reaction are blown out of proportion while the predator gaslights and walk off with no responsibility or consequence for their action. Why is that salt is added to wound, trigger pulled on a trigger while the perpetuators, manipulators walk off free. I don't understand why the victims suffer, while the predators are glorified. I don't understand, and maybe by breathing naivety never will.

- To the many things, I fail to understand about this world
Sabila Siddiqui Jul 2019
For a very long time,
I wondered what was my mistake?
Why me?
What did I do to deserve it?
Did I attract you?
because I never meant to.

But now I realise,
It didn't matter
who I was,
where I was,
what I wore.

Because the person to blame
wasn't me, but you all along.
The little squirrel enjoyed its nutty meal
Happy it squealed
The preying bird perched high in the tree
Happy, enjoyed its meal
As the squirrel squealed its last
While the little squirrel lived its nutty fruity dream
The days, they flee like frightened prey
From ravenous needs of the past,
Appetite that feeds on today,
Voracious hunger’s everlast.

Still open wounds prey on the weak,
Tomorrow’s young without defense.
It’s deadly game of hide and seek,
It’s pain’s surviving consequence.

Tomorrow has not built the strength
To outrun this ferocity,
Anger pursues and shortens length
So it can feed on what could be.

The ruthless past pursues to feed
In service to instinct to ****,
Attack and let the future bleed,
To prey on time so it stands still.
Instagram @insightshurt
Blogging at www.insightshurt.com
Buy “Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life” at store.bookbaby.com/book/insights-hurt
Anna Nigma Nov 2018
**** this stupid
Big
******* massive
Enormous
country of ours.
This desolate land
God forsaken.
My skin is too soft,
My heart is too weak
to be dragged up and down coasts
Chasings stories and heartache.
A mail-order bride,
A ******* for love,
the mouse
who ran to the
Predator.
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