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When the sun welcomed the night, I was sure it would never rise again
The cold crisp air reminded me of the warmth I lacked
Meeting you was like reuniting with an old friend Nostalgic in its familiarity, my soul recognized yours
You guided me to the light, promising I would never be cold again
An undeniable reflection in your eyes, I saw myself warmer than I'd ever been
It was then that I realized morning had arrived after all
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.
FormlessMars Feb 11
The space between us is not just miles—  
it’s the ache in my ribs when I breathe,  
the way my hands forget their purpose  
without the weight of your hips to hold.  

I am a house with no windows,  
a room where the light refuses to stay.
  
The world feels like a poorly written script—  
everyone else is laughing, but I can’t find the joke.  

I want to kiss you so badly it feels like a crime,  
like the universe has locked your lips in a glass case  
and hung a sign that says Do Not Touch.
  
But I would break every rule,  
shatter every law of physics,  
just to feel the warmth of your mouth on mine.  

I miss the way your voice wraps around my name,  
how it sounds like a prayer I didn’t know I needed.
  
I miss the way your laughter spills into the room,  
a symphony I’d trade my silence for in a heartbeat.  

I want to marry you—  
not in the way they show in movies,  
with the white dress and the perfect vows,  
but in the way that feels like coming home,  
like finding the missing piece of a puzzle  
I didn’t even know I was solving.  

Without you, the world is a grayscale film,  
a song played on a broken piano.
  
I am a shadow of myself,  
a half-finished poem  
waiting for your hands to write the ending.  

Come back to me.

Or let me come to you.
  
Let me close this distance,  
this unbearable, infinite space  
that feels like it’s swallowing me whole.  

I am not whole without you.
  
I am not anything.
The love of my life.
Sara Barrett Jan 31
Four centuries pass, yet echoes remain,
A woman’s cry met with silence again.
Laws were written, inked with good grace,
Yet bruises still bloom in the same hidden place.

The chains are less visible, but still they confine,
A whisper, a threat—unwritten lines.
Justice pretends to be blind and fair,
But turns away when she’s gasping for air.

She flees, she pleads, but where can she go?
The system still asks what she should have known.
“Why did you stay?” they say with a sigh,
As if love was her crime, as if she chose to die.

Four hundred years, yet history repeats—
A woman still fights to stand on her feet.
On January 31, 1641, the Massachusetts Bay Colony’s Body of Liberties declared that a married woman should be “free from bodilie correction or stripes by her husband.” It was one of the earliest legal protections against domestic violence in what would become the United States—a recognition that a woman’s body was not her husband’s to wound.

And yet, four centuries later, how much has truly changed?

Four Hundred Years and Still is a reflection on the persistent cycles of abuse, the systemic failures that allow them to continue, and the way society still asks women to justify their survival. It speaks to the echoes of history, where laws may evolve, but the lived reality for many remains strikingly familiar. This poem is for every woman who has been asked, “Why did you stay?” instead of, “Why did he harm you?” It is for those who fought, who fled, who survived, and those who didn’t.

Because four hundred years should have been long enough.
The sun and stars in the heavens
stand only as a reminder of the depth of my love for you,
my sweet Cathy.

But their luminescence is but pale in consideration
of the brightness of my love and the beauty
that you possess.

Though great is the effort of the constellations
at the dawning of the night
To eclipse thy beauty and my love,

My love for you and thy beauty only grows stronger
and shines brighter, that the stars must shine
for all eternity in effort to match.

You are my Sun and Stars Cathy
One of many poems written for my wife Cathy
There used to be an angel
who was very close to me,
this Angel was a guiding light
wherever I would be.
Sometimes I made some big mistakes,
I walked the forbidden lane,
this Angel had a certain way
to bring me back again.

This Angel was always with me
every night and every day,
this Angel always helped me see
just where I went astray.
Sometimes I didn't like it,
the truth it often hurt,
but when I ignored this Angel
it made the matter worse.

I really loved this Angel,
we'd been together for many years.
We never always did agree
and often there were tears.
But angels are for a reason,
that is something I have found,
now this Angel is no longer with me
I'm so sad she's not around.
Johnson Oyeniran Oct 2024
-What joy you give to me!

Beautiful as always and a heart as pure as gold,

Just like the stars of heaven, you're a sight to behold!
Miranda Sep 2024
I'm old too
Im tired of you
It's why my head splits
When you call me
It's why my eyes are hollow
When I look at you
It's why I need escape
So today
A day I've waited for
I stand over you
Finally freed of you
And I can finally speak
One last favour
And let you be remembered
So fondly as I once saw you
Daniel Tucker Feb 2017
And you and me are still
Young enough to really live
We are simply melding
Into another season of emotion
The years are just beginning
To gray what they have claimed
And have been allowed to claim

The wind blows away what it can--
What cannot be tied down

Keep whispering
Your soul into my soul
Keep primal scream tears          
Falling into my primal soul

Keep filling up the empty spaces
Keep creating empty spaces

Tearing down the vacant walls
Building up new walls

Opening locked doors
Locking others in turn

As we forever transform together
Under the aegis of the Immortal

As we grow like the roots
Of the banyan tree

Hanging down with the branches
Helping to provide shelter
As we slowly grow closer
To the sweet earth
In silent anticipation
Finally touching
Slowly penetrating
Gently pushing deeper
Until we are of one purpose

Deeply rooted by the banks
Of the Eternal River
That descended from heaven
And flows through
Human spirit transformed

Life-giving water running slow
And deep the source of your whisper--
True essence in deepest longings

Flowing into my source
Pockets of holy energy overflowing
Slowed down to a trickle at times
Going full circle and
                                     Back and forth
From out of reach channels

That something deep beyond
                     The Starry masses

That something some call love

That something some call God

That something flowing & living
                                  In me & you.
Copyright©2017 Daniel Tucker

...that something you cannot quite put your finger on...
PERTINAX Aug 2024
From Publius
To Terra

Salve amore mea

I bid you greetings from the new land
Though I am saddened by your absence
It is a necessary grief

Think not on the sweaty tasks unsuitable
For a beauty such as you
A house you deserve
A house I shall build

A grand atrium will await your arrival
Flowers and Garland will be strewn
To parade your coming

The triumphant wife
Whose radiant reflection shines as a goddess
Mine impluvium turned caldarium

Enter further and I'll have built for you
A grand hallway
Paved with mosaic representations of great Jove
And pastoral murals of our farm and ****** Ceres

Finally, I'll show you to your bed chamber
Finely furnished for the royalty of my love
Crowned in soaring arches crossed in such a way
That creates perfect cubes painted with dancing Cupid
Whose bow I've aimed to forever seal your heart

To mine own

When I draw the arrow
Feathers knocked to sunburned cheeks
And let loose my desire to hold you close
And erase the distance of space between
Our farm
And your home

All I've left to do is build and till and sow
May Sol, Luna, and yourself
Watch over me from afar
With love and well wishes

I will write you soon with more tales from the field
Until then, the work continues...

Vale amore mea,

PERTINAX
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