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Meggi Apr 1
The soldier can not always be fighting
There must have been a time before the fray
When the man’o war was a child running barefoot over land without mines
There must have been time for rest
Time for lunch
Time for bed
The fighting man must still dream at night, of *** and flying and the boogeyman as I do
He must have taken up his own arms
Dressed in his own clothes for the day
Let his own legs carry him eastwards
******* his own head on straight
The man inside the camouflage still combs his hair in the morning
Telephones his mother to ask about the recipe
Tries to lose the last of his gut before summer brings the beach back into popular culture
The soldier too shall die
Die victim and perpetrator and ghost of state sanctioned fury-for-a-cause
Fury-for-a-sons-life, mother dearest
Load him up! Send him off! We shall turn your boy into a man! We shall give him honour! We shall carry his body home from the field on the back of a friend!
The fighting man in his bloodlust
Turns out to be nothing more than any other son
Loaded into a gun
Shot across the field
Into the face of a history who will call him Soldier
Into the face of the mother who will call him Little One at the funeral
Who will wail and weep and tear the flag
The mother of war knows best the sting of the gun
The sting of the soldier in her arms
Hope Mar 30
Don't get too close
the closeness makes
this crazy mind distrust you.
I come from generations of lunatic woman.
Mad with passion
        jealous of the gum stuck to your shoe
          or the pool stick you chalk up right before
          you hit the rack.
                  I tell you
                      we're out of our minds.
    
As a teen I'd
spit on my walls-
sweep up broken glass
from the fists full of love punches thrown from
one parent to the next.
            Alcohol, and
              rage
                  stirred with
                     resentfulness
                         can drive any car off a cliff.

I'd miss weeks of school
because of this.
Jumped out of moving cars to get to "safety"
smoked cigarettes
behind the tree
that covered the window to my brother's room.
   no one noticed-
              ever.
Not the times I'd be gone
    or the missing homework assignments,
       not even fear and
         beer bottles that reflected
            in my innocent eyes.
  
     It molded
     this mind
     I carry now-
      I'd curse at the sun
          told the moon to *******
          learning not to trust
                      a shadow
or even a noise.
Especially a couple weeks of calmness.
      Don't trust those,
they'll pull the rug out from
under you and
break your nose,
slice your wrist
making you learn
silence
and introduce you to
darkness.

Life goes on now,
prescriptions burn the
nerves,
     but never
keep the craziness at bay for long.
          That the calmness
                          always
                           ends.
House shaking
children quaking,
chaos-
my parents engraved in me.
      Also gifted me jealousy-
plus a little of this and that
that can turn anything sweet into sour.
        So I'm telling you
even when the stillness comes
don't you dare hold your breath-
it won't last
           we'll make sure of that
               at least it never did for me.
I grew up in the shadow of my mother’s cries,
a symphony of pain echoing through thin walls.
My father’s rage was a storm I could not calm,
locked away in my room, a prisoner of helplessness.

I trained my ears to listen for the silence,
for the absence of that horrible sound meant safety.
In the sweltering heat of summer,
I turned off the fan, closed the window,
sacrificing comfort to keep my vigil.

The stillness was my shield,
my ears scanning, always scanning,
for the sound that shattered peace.

I wondered, if my mother had been different—
empowered, independent, unyielding—
would she have escaped the blows?
Would I have been spared the scars of witnessing?

But no, her submissiveness was not the crime.
The fault lay in the hands that struck,
in the heart that chose cruelty over love.

And yet, I confess, I dream of a submissive wife.
Not to dominate, not to harm,
but to prove, to myself and to the world,
that gentleness deserves tenderness,
that softness is not a weakness to exploit.

I will love her properly, care for her deeply,
respect her fully, treasure her words like a melody,
and hold her thoughts as close as my heartbeat.
I will be kind without condition.

For if I do not, it would be as if I blamed my mother
for the sins of my father.
And that, I cannot bear.

Yes, I celebrate the empowered, the independent,
the women who rise, unbroken, against the tide.
But let us not forget:
a submissive woman is not a flawed woman.

She, too, deserves love, care, and kindness.
She, too, deserves to be safe,
to have her voice respected,
her opinions valued,
and her dignity upheld.

For the fault of abuse lies not in the victim,
but in the hands that wield it.
And in my hands, I vow to hold only gentleness,
to break the cycle,
to honor my mother’s tears
by creating a world where no one has to cry.
In Defense of Gentleness
This poem explores the trauma of witnessing abuse and the desire to break cycles of harm. The term 'submissive' is used not to endorse traditional gender roles or power imbalances, but to reflect a personal commitment to treating gentleness and softness with the love, respect, and kindness they deserve. It is a call to honor the dignity of all individuals, regardless of their nature or behavior, and to hold abusers accountable for their actions.
Gideon Mar 8
I fell madly in love with you.
Your sweet compliments drew me in.
I fell madly in love with you.
Your soft kisses won me over.
I fell madly in love with you.
Your advice told me to listen.
I fell madly in love with you.
Your discipline made me better.
I fell madly in love with you.
Your harsh words caught me off guard.
I fell madly in love with you.
Your apologies regained my trust.
I fell madly in love with you.
Your bad habits became mine.
I fell madly in love with you.
Your anger made me feel protected.
I fell madly in love with you.
Your disappointment was immeasurable.
I fell madly in love with you.
Your love made me feel crazy.

I fell violently out of love with you.
Your sweet compliments stopped coming.
I fell violently out of love with you.
Your kisses slowly faded to pecks.
I fell violently out of love with you.
Your advice led me astray.
I fell violently out of love with you.
Your discipline left me confused.
I fell violently out of love with you.
Your harsh words stung like tears.
I fell violently out of love with you.
Your apologies were double-sided.
I fell violently out of love with you.
Your bad habits ruined my life.
I fell violently out of love with you.
Your anger scared my childlike heart.
I fell violently out of love with you.
Your disappointment made me feel even worse.
I fell violently out of love with you.
Your love made me feel unloveable.
It's meant to be in two parallel columns, but I couldn't do that here.
Gideon Mar 8
Let the world read the words you have written.
Let them sink in like fangs that have bitten.
Into the flesh and into the soul.
Filling the deepest and darkest of holes.
Voids in our minds and caves in our hearts.
Filled to the brim with beautiful art.
If not for the Holy Land,
The Germans and the French in battle,
Would have failed to be met.

If not for that and the WW1,
My ancestors would've never been met,
If not for that, I would never be born for peace.
The blood of war bonds it's survivors stronger.
They sell fear,
On the evening news,
So I don't watch it anymore.

They show you police brutality,
Mass murders,
And war.

But what they refuse to put on that screen,
Is the people fighting to do the right thing.
Because who would buy their fear,
If they could see the world changing.
I've noticed a sizable difference in the news showing violence and destruction compared to protests and reforms.
Pixie Feb 19
Violated-
and yet to be vindicated, the pieces of me that have been stolen and never returned, still haunt me when I close my eyes.

Isolated-
from my mind, unable to access and find the proof of my memories that were left behind. The walls I built to keep the pain from finding me, have become the prison that fuels my decay

Only-
fragments remain, a broken mirror scattered on the floor. Seeing myself in parts, dripping blood as I piece myself back together, to never remain as before

Lingering-
in the shadows of my thoughts, I search for solace in silence, but the echoes whisper softly in my ear, spinning in my mind.

Empty-
heart and empty mind, crush the pills and scrape it in a line. Just a release to keep your ghosts away from mine.

Never-
will I be the same.  Each small event had a role to play. Making me sick thinking about their game. The void is deeper than I can explain.

Crashing-
waves of doubt and regret pull me under, suffocating the last remnants of who I thought I was. But in this water, I cannot see. Forcing my eyes shut to avoid the pain of the salt sinking in.

Endings-
are not what I fear. It’s the thought of never having a chance to begin again, the weight of knowing my worth and understanding what safety really is. My heart is violent just like you. My mind unsafe too. Yet i couldn't be violent the way you do.
When will the violence be over
Godawful heartbreak is only what she knows
Fairytale’s smoke teeters on the edge of a nightmare
For which she is the main character

The sun releases her puppeteering demons
As they adapt to the light,
And the feeling busts at the seams

The knowing moon is her therapeutic hymn
But is the mercury that chains her mind to his prison shackles
Long after the mad hatter’s curse has faded
And his hand, poisoned by the vile actions done.

The cup is half empty
Her heart is half full
But her trust is just a void in both.
2/18/25
fizbett Feb 16
There's still an imprint of
your hand on my face,
from the day you first struck me-
a love story between
paper skin and
iron fists.
It's been long since the redness faded
(long, not gone)
a bruise visible to not another soul
but mine.
𝘠𝘖𝘜 𝘋𝘐𝘋 𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘚.

It smiles back in pictures
mocks me in mirrors
follows me on the street.
You created the mark
but I gave it a life,
a name- a structure
and decorated it with my self worth.

Bruised knuckles smeared in betrayal
𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘶𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘸
Snake infested waters
𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘦𝘥.
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