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In your eyes, I find a map,
And so far it has led me past the stars
Into a galaxy of happiness and joy,
Through my own heart and into yours,
And it has showed me
Our love is a universe,
Expanding and compounding continuously,
But this expedition has brought me no treasure to display in my trophy case
And that just wont cut it anymore.
So for now-
I'll just head back up to the stars.
Perhaps I'll find you there too.
Beanie Dec 2018
you think the heads
hung on your wall
define you,
prove your masculine worth.

to me,
they are a warning
to stay far away.

women and animals
are not yours.

we are not yours,
we are not trophies for your wall,
we are not notches for your bedpost,
we are not prizes to be won.

yet you would treat us as such,
equate me and my sisters
with the lion in the savannah,
and reduce us to what you can take.

you would hang us on your wall,
furs and maidenheads,
displaying us as symbols of your prowess.

we do not exist to stroke your ego,
to let you show off to the others,
to have you carry us as the mantle on your shoulders,
the crown upon your head.

our blood,
the lioness and mine,
is on your hands and your walls,
and we will make you regret it.
I wrote this after watching the documentary "Trophy"
There is such a thing
the Hollywood Blonde
They all seem to know one another
Each one thinks that
are the most sublime
The most inspirational
The Musiest

Like Water Nymphs
They form their group instinctively
The Hollywood Blonde
And if you are a Brunette, say
Or Chinese
I know one and she has the most magnificent *******
the facts
The husband and the house
The hotels and private jets
Know that those Hollywood Blondes will do a lot of stuff
Without you dear one
“Sorry” they will shrug
They swim
And dine
And gather together
And will let you know
after The Fact
Even movies
Or just returning phone calls

Why do they form the horde?
Perhaps they really are genetically special.
Why do they pride themselves in their isolation?
A mystery still.
Mystery Side-Piece?
Oh yes.
Is it an unknowable path that they are on?
A hero’s quest in a bottle of peroxide?
Applied every three weeks.
I’d like to think so.
I wish that they would share what they know.

But we already know.
A mind is not necessary
although helpful
Chic? No. You can wear anything.
A steady, warrantied beauty?
No just hair
the color of wheat
Or a corn tortilla
It’s never spun gold
No matter
What you’ve read.

Are Barbie’s measurements
Can you imagine the pressure.
When the lines appear and it’s over?
Hathere Nov 2018
I look down on you
From high upon your wall
Gaze fixed by surrender
Trust was my fall
Though the forest did whisper
The curtain called
Jack L Martin Sep 2018
Hanging on the wall, next to my bed post,
A friend of the forest looks surprised, most.
Oh dear, she did not hear the gunshot near,
Nor tree nor hill nor her fawn shed a tear.

Over there, the finest hair of the hare,
Cute and fluffy hopping into my stew.
It's seat is sweet and hard to beat I swear,
Though his hide is gamey and tough to chew.

A sow, a cow is how I eat for now,
I feast on the beasts with the finest meats.
Fresh flesh on my breath, fresh blood on my brow,
Slaughtered, like their daughters; fair market treats.

I feel nothing for these creatures I hunt.
Would you rather feast on the yeast they shunt?
DeAnn Feb 2018
His hands were in my hair one moment and around my neck the next
He is the epitome of complexity
He is the man I love the most in this world
He is...

Our relationship is complicated
He loves me and I know it
When I am sad, he will comfort me
When I cry, he wraps me in his arms and holds me tight, telling me everything is going to be okay
When I succeed, he cheers on the sidelines, his face filled with pride

But I have become accustomed to being a doll
A trophy
When he is not right, he is right anyways
When he is angry, there is always someone else on the receiving end
There is always another to be blamed

Until now, I never knew I could be right
I didn’t know the freedom I could have
I didn’t know that there were guys who could be patient, would let me have an opinion, would let me be me instead of a trophy
I didn't know I was a person

My own entity
CrookedMantis Dec 2017
I won a trophy!
It has my name on its plaque!
…what do I do now?
Sombro Jul 2017
I can almost expect
What you're worth to me
The search for something I care about
Leads me to consider some like you

To be honest, you're a bit of a plaything,
Some little dolly I can twist
To make me happy, one
Bird in the light's chorus

So the vanity in me congratulates you, you're in, that which I'm sure about
In my garden of the could've-beens
Where all is shelved and warm and no longer offensive

You can be great there, one of the best
And walk through the grass, the fountains of instinct
And meet the others who came before
As though you cared

There, you can taste the sweetness
Of pollen I scatter, brush past currents on the wind I send to ruffle your hair
*** it should be displayed,
Hear the laughter of girls in the painted summer
And appreciate me
Crystal June Jan 2017
Don't fantasize,
Close your eyes.
Your prying lies
Will surely lead to my demise,
For I was born
To be more
Than just a simple wife.

I'm not a trophy by any means,
But I see marriage in your eyes --
Two rings staring right at who you think I am,
The one you want, but I never can
Be the girl that you desire.
You've been confusing my cold shoulder
For an igniting fire.
I'm not trying to call you a liar,
If anything, I'm the one concealing the truth.

I will never be just a wife,
I will lead my own fantastic life.
I'll never wear an apron, curls, or pearls.
I will never be your one and only girl.
I will live for myself and my daughters,
For all those women to come
Who think
All they can ever be is a housewife
Clad in pink.
Honey, there's so much more to this
Than a life in which you depend on a man
For your happiness.

Be your own other half,
Fall in love with your own smile.
I wrote this about a month ago, but it seems relevant now more than ever.
One and Only Dec 2016
I feel like a trophy.
Something to be won,
then thrown away once I begin to dull.

I feel like a trophy,
Paraded around when beautiful,
Left alone to rust and dissolve away.

I feel like a trophy,
loved at the start,
then kept only for the memories

I feel like a trophy,
Marveled at in the spotlight,
then slowly forced to share the shelf space.

I feel like a trophy,
naive enough to think
that that my next owner would treasure me.

I feel like a trophy,**
non-living, replaceable,
and disposable.
I don't get it. What is wrong with me?
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