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Sara Barrett Nov 11
In a society,
There’s a tree called misogyny,
Where its deep roots
Grow into all girls,
Who develop in agony,
Facing judgment that feels relentless,
Much of it unspoken, a harsh irony.
This judgment seeps into our daily strife,
Trapping us within roles that limit our life.
Narrow expectations stifle our dreams,
While society’s pressure bursts at the seams.
We’re told how to act, what to say and wear,
As if our true selves are too much to bear.
Dreams of freedom fuel our inner symphony,
A quest to end this cycle of regulatory authority.
She bears the weight of expectations,
A load shaped by herstory’s complications.
With a heavy heart, she watched the tragedy,
As blame is passed down through each family.
Inheriting struggles, a cycle we see,
Each woman’s journey marked by disparity.
Disappointments linger, like shadows they stay,
A legacy of women woven in silence and gray.
The silence among women she cherished felt heavy,
An unspoken vow that let men be merry
Free from their own responsibility,
Caught in a system that kept them confined,
With “They didn’t know better” echoing in mind.
Hiding complicity in voices suppressed,
In a world where their wisdom was rarely expressed.
Each story unspoken, a weight they all share,
Navigating life with caution and care.
Yet deep in their hearts lies a yearning to be,
More than the shadows of what they could see.
In the silence, a strength that quietly grows,
A call for the change that each woman knows.
This poem, ‘Roots of Misogyny,’ explores the deep-seated nature of misogyny and its impact on women’s lives across generations. Inspired by the stories of women in my life, it reflects on societal expectations and the silent strength that grows within. As the first piece in a series examining gender roles and family dynamics, I hope it prompts reflection on how we can challenge and change these ingrained societal norms.
Lucia Nov 9
As she glides down the aisle, shadows of her past converge,
Memories of anguish and sorrow's relentless surge.
The weight of isolation, the ache of emptiness,
Would soon dissolve, replaced by love's gentle caress.

Tears and pain, once constants, would become a distant past,
A fleeting memory, eclipsed by love that would last.
In his arms, she'd find solace, a haven from her fears,
A gentle soul to listen, to wipe away her tears.

Yet, instead of serenity, panic seized her heart,
A dread of surrendering to love's redeeming start.
She clung to the familiar pangs of sorrow and strife,
Afraid to release the joy that threatened her fragile life.

Like whispers of a summer breeze, her smiles had always fled,
Leaving her with echoes of a long-forgotten thread.
But now, with love's promise, her heart should have soared,
Not trembled with the ghosts of love she'd never explored.

Instead of embracing liberation, she fled the altar's might,
Her footsteps echoing his cries, a haunting, desperate plight.
While I'm only thirteen, I put myself in the mind of a young tortured bride.
Idil Nov 9
Trees,flowers,leaves and grass
All so different
But all live in harmony
Different shapes and sizes,
All together,
In tranquility.
Why cant we?
Seeds from different plants
Expressing ourselves in different ways
Some could be considered beautiful to gaze upon,
But have thorns hidden like a rose,
Whilst some are considered hideous but feed others, like weeds
Thats why roses focus on beauty,
And weeds focus on personality.
Manicure the landscapes of my gaze – a far-off forest whispers
sweet nothings before a lover fades into memory – growing
weary; the taste turns bitter, like rising *****. Lingering sweetness;
the flavour of honey clings to my lips, a hive buzzing with our
fantasies woven in dreams – yet this imagination comes tethered
to a swarm of bees.

A television muse; she’s a show looping in my thoughts,
preying on my moments, I’m praying pretending to be
faithful, my hands are little more faithful than I was to you,
never keeping you in focus.

We must have believed we were creases, yearning to love
beyond the inevitable wrinkles – beautiful, flawed beings;
yet even a beast knows it must seek another to thrive.

How humans are so vile.
The birds weigh,
lightly
upon the grass,
and our hands
together,
we give grace
to Angels,
not demons.
Twigs within hands,
falling
like limits
of yellow sands,
and the insects,
will defect,
so truthfully.
Claire Kowal Nov 8
The hands on the clock reflect nothing more than  a concept
My hands aren’t meant to keep everything on a schedule
My bones don’t bend like the rest
The eye of the world doesn’t see its flaws
With the light fading,
As everything stills,
I realized something.
Maybe I wasn’t cut out for living
But I know better than to give up.

I don’t face danger head on,
The use of my mind will get me by,
Because I can’t be reckless,
My life is on the line,
And I play a fair game.

So when my pawn becomes a king,
and I obtain power,
I will dominate in my field of life
The flowers around will bloom,
And the earth will course through our veins.

For my casket will be bare until I decide I’m going to reside
I will find a new place to call home in the meantime,
But when I watch the moon fall,
The tears will follow
For I stand in my wake,
Of a stream I have yet to experience.
Claire Kowal Nov 8
Heat and hearth give birth to the pain of the people
Burning down whatever was created
Blowing away the ash left behind from memories
The wind whispering tyranny into the ears of the leaders
Portraying violence among the people we once called friends
The understandings of a mind get burned
Causing strain in society

There is no more room for hope
The noose is around our necks
We are getting whipped into place
One foot out of line and we’re gone
The fear coursing through our veins should be replace with anger
Anger towards those who wrong us
The ones who decide what we can and can’t do
The ones who say they’re doing it in the name of God
Well, I hate to break it to you
There is no God,
There is no one coming for us except ourselves
Claire Kowal Nov 9
As the gods spew their inchor across the sands of time,
The ones who were deemed unworthy must revolt
Leaving nothing but ash and dust in the path of those who deserve it

Once the world comes to a halt and the flames subside,
There will only be room for improvement of society as we know it.
So don't be afraid if your knife is dull,
For once what was broken mustn’t be fixed,
Instead given new purpose if all what was given

We are the ones worthy of fame and fortune,
Yet the time for us to reign hasn’t rose like the sun
But one must watch the moon leave in order to obtain sight of the sun
Us too want nothing more that power
Tyranny has left its ****** hands on our backs,
Giving support to the blind

New doors await on the other side
Yet no one dares to take the leap
We are cowards among the gods
If we want to keep our heads,
We must let go of our souls
But keep your courage,
For that is the strongest thing of all
Claire Kowal Nov 10
Blood stains the hands of the guilty a nauseous crimson.
From first contact,
To the last breath,
Remains no emotion

Beneath their fine skin
Turning a sickly gray
From the chaos within a human,
To their ability of empathy

We are no different from the animals
We also have a purpose
But one must not be afraid of theirs

For as long as we live,
We are controlled by someone
Unknown or known to us.
Their grasp on reality isn’t as strong as ours,
For that’s why we are above them
don't show her - she wouldn't like it,
don't say that - he'll disagree,
“it looks great” now means discard it,
we tell lies to keep the peace.

can we call this peace at all?
all we know is a facade,
trust is short when tales are tall,
social lives now fake and sad.

why destroy what we have made?
why must we critique ourselves?
can we let precaution fade?
the need to tiptoe overwhelms.

for harmony we make a trade,
we all show but no one tells.

please refuse to be afraid,
walk on air and not eggshells
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