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Ejiro 4d
Even though I am currently 15 years old
In my head I feel like I have already fulfilled my childhood
I had the "birds and bees" talk
before I could even learn how to tie my shoelaces correctly
My parents made me learn several things
to help me face the real-world challenges like taxes and bills
before I could even know the difference between
a fraction and a decimal
I have also learned how certain people in society view woman
in a disgusting and draining point of view
so, when I finally got my period
and my mother said "I'm finally becoming a woman"
I felt like my intestines was swirling inside my stomach
so ever since then
when I wake up in the morning and see myself through a reflection
I can sense changes flowing through my body
and it terrifies me to the fullest extent
but I know that I can't stop it
Aside from my body changing over time
my mind has also changed a little bit
before I saw the world in pastel colors
even though I knew the true intentions
of what our world is becoming from which we stand on
but now I see the world with cracked lenses
but my perspective of society is becoming clearer and distraught
I know that I'm young
and if you were to compare me with the people
I hang out with before and after
you would probably think to yourself
"Wow she is so mature for her age"
but sometimes I wish my childhood was in a slow pace
who knows maybe if I were to wake up tomorrow
I might become twice my age without realizing
and If I were to blink twice
then wrinkles will start to appear on my face

The one thing I'm starting to regret now
Is wishing to become older when I was so young
and when I do reach adulthood
I'll start wishing to be youthful again
I don't know if I'm ready to reach my full capacity of womanhood
when I'm still daydreaming about nostalgia
Xiola 4d
The wild woman, she is cyclical.
The wild woman, she is seasonal.
The wild woman, she is tidal.
The wild woman honours her seasons of being.
She rests in both body and mind when her bones and spirit command it.
The wild woman yields to the gift of her own emotional wisdom.
She is as mutable and unpredictable as a tropical storm
The wild woman is both hibernating bear and flitting hummingbird.
She is springs flush and she is volcanic eruptions.
She is the crones wisdom after the maidens mistakes
She is all the stories of all the ancestors stored in the library of her bones.
Through her they will be heard
.
All the men that stare, they don't have to stay
They don't **** , but the **** is conveyed
Eyes have power they say
is that why they hate the gays

eyeliner , eye shadow , lipstick
This is what makes em ick ;
doing drugs
having ***
that's cool isn't it?
looking at the hips that gave you birth;
staring at the ******* that quenched your thirst
maybe the gender is a little cursed
this is the fact that makes my heart burst

**** is a powerful word
a tool for women to onslaught the turds
isn't it a little to late to test the bees and the birds
maybe its better to have a gay son or a thot daughter
then to have a son that rapes his own mother
I am confident because I am a woman,
Not a reflection of someone else’s desires,
Not an object to be shaped by their whims,
But a vibrant force, grounded and inspired.
They think they own my beauty,
As if it’s theirs to claim and consume.
But I’m the storm that shakes their ground,
A force of nature, bold and unbound.
Each scar I bear tells of my fight,
A testament to strength and might.
I rise like fire, daring and bold,
Defying limits they’ve tried to mold.
I honor the woman in my own mirror,
Her spirit unbroken, her vision clear.
If my independence stirs their unease,
Let my truth rise like a tempest, swift as the breeze.
I refuse to fit into their narrow confines,
Living authentically, where my spirit shines.
As free as the winds that weave through the trees,
With aspirations that soar beyond their pleas.
When their illusions begin to crumble and fall,
They lash out like shadows, but I stand tall.
Their approval was never my measure of worth;
I’ll reflect on this journey with pride and mirth.
Finding strength in each “no” that I dared to speak,
In every chain I shattered, in every dream I seek.
My path is my own, uniquely defined;
I am here—embracing the fire in my mind.
With courage as my compass and hope as my guide,
I’ll honor my story, with nothing to hide.
This poem celebrates female empowerment and self-identity, articulating the strength and resilience of a woman who refuses to conform to societal expectations. The speaker asserts her independence, using vivid imagery and metaphors to convey her journey of self-discovery. Themes of defiance, beauty, and personal growth resonate throughout, as she embraces her scars as symbols of strength. The flow of words enhances the emotional impact, creating a powerful anthem for authenticity and self-acceptance. Overall, this work serves as a bold declaration of individuality and a rejection of external validation.
Claire Kowal Nov 11
I stare at the lonesome creature in the mirror;
The dull blue eyes share stories,
But they will never be told again.
The sickly pale skin yearning for the light,
The cracked lips that remained in a frown,
Limbs that looked out of place,
Hair that was wild in the worst way,
The clothes that felt like they never fit,
Was this who I was supposed to be?
A gift that sparkles in city lights.
like xmas trees in December nights,
Dazzling eyes and gorgeous skin,
Pale like the typical English,
but radiates like a burning fire,
the red of clasping barbed wire,
an angel spawned into mortal flashes
more than worthy of the moon's blesses.
My bones free of Anathema's heresy.

You make me a believer.
Arawyn Nov 10
I'm sorry for my hair
and I'm sorry for my nails.
I'm sorry for my cheekbones and my eyebags (oh so frail)
I'm sorry if I was too loud,
Or if I was too quiet.
I'm sorry for my stomach, will it be better if I diet?
And oh I'm sorry for saying sorry
And I am sorry for thinking too much... too little or too less
I'm sorry I'm such a mess.
I am sorry if I pick, if I scratch or if I bite.
I'm sorry for wearing heels, was I too short, was my dress too tight?
After all, I'm just a woman,
Saying sorry is just my job.
Because if I don't apologise for breathing,
Then I must be a snob.
I've stopped saying sorry.
Magda Nov 8
I feel pity for the ocean.
In order to be loved, she stays silent –
masking the tiniest whisper of her feelings,
slowly forgetting the fiery waves she is made of.

For no man dares approach her
when she is crashing her turbulent bones
on the rocks.
They will wait until she has calmed –
tranquilised,
ready to reflect their likeness on herself.

They can't handle her intensity,
leaving behind corpses of memories –
abandoned promises of eternity,
never to come true.

Of course, I understand the ocean.
She shares the same fate I do –
the woman's fate.
Creatures crucified for emodying
their soul.
Claire Kowal Nov 10
Her
I look at her standing in front of me;
Her eyes are empty and dead,
It reminisces her soul.
I break down seeing her,
It’s my fault she’s like this,
I am not who she wanted me to be,
I wish I can go back and fix my mistakes.

I let the tears roll down my pale cheeks.
Her face hold no emotion,
The is no string tying her down to earth,
I’m afraid she’s going to float away,
Out of my grasp,
And I won’t see her again.

I wish she can know how much she’s loved.
Her frame is slumped,
I feel nothing but guilt.
It’s all my fault.
She didn’t deserve this.
Neither did I,
But this isn’t about me,
What’s done is done,
But I wish she could have it better.

She thinks it’s all hopeless,
I want to scream that it isn’t,
I know she can’t hear me,
I’m watching her from a distance,
As invisible force keeping me from her.

I want to hug her,
Whisper to her that everything’s going to be okay,
But I can’t.
What’s done is done.
So take me home to the life I wish I could change.
Verlecia F Oct 31
what happen to him
did he go down with the ship
or was it, someone who, got over on him

they say he was, a good guy
as nice as, they come
and everyone liked him
and he liked everyone

was he taken down
by some bad guy
who just did it, for the fun-of-it?
or was it, illicit monetary funds
that was involved

Everyone was upset
and some even cried
the day they hear
Mr. Vic Tim
could have died
Verlecia - He, is every VICTIM in the world be, he or she. Be the victim big or small! you or me . Bad or Good A Victim is a Victim

you ask if i am a victim - yea- yes I am - and if took a lot out of me to say the truth!
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