Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
neth jones Apr 2
you showed me an honest dark element inside of you
but   i act peppy and dismissive                      
            i laughed you off as human
your darkness ? a triviality shared amongst us all
shaved off of our common bark                      
                             common as simple saliva

you showed me... nature mother of **** and gyration
                                       the play of things
the playthings of the mischievous godlings                    
and a dark patch   was made woman for me also

i was quiet now and unresistant                              
                                 this new dark inside   an unscriptured thing
i'd been castigated and forgiven                        
          in loving unrestrained puncture
MetaVerse Mar 22
There once was a gal from Berlin:
The hair on her chinny-chin-chin
     Was thicker than wool,
     And it made her blades dull
Whenever she shaved to the skin.
your girl b Mar 19
I met a woman who wiped my tears
Who listened to my traumas from the past years
She never judged, she stayed calm in my storms
So much so that it never dawned on me that she was worn
From all the hate I spilled making messes left and right
Burning bridges and reacting out of spite
She held on she was tough
But her future holds the light
Therefore she had to leave
She could not stay
I begged and begged and reminded her promise to be here when our hair turned grey
I have never known a love like hers
A woman who puts others before her
That's where I want to stay
That's where I'll spend my nights
I will have to change if I want a spot in her light
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.
Fanm, fanm, o fanm rapadou
Boubout mwen, bèsom, kòmansmanm
Nan kaye jounalye mwen chak jou
Chak jou se pou ou, se jou pa ou
Ou se nanm mwen, poto pitanmm
Mwen renmen ou chak jou
Chouchoum, mwen renmen ou.

Bèl fanm, bèl cheri, bèl bote
Ou nan kèm tout la jounen
Ou okipe nan nan lavi mwen
Ou se Princess mwen, gran Majeste
Ou se larenn mwen, yon gran sous
Fanm, fanm, o fanm dous
Oksijèn mwen, bèl dam mwen.

Fanm, fanm, kinanm mwen
Etwal nan syèl, lalin lavi mwen
Ou se yon poupe orijinal, bèl fanm
Ou se moun ki konn naje, e rame nan lanm
Ou se yon fanm ki byen akonpli nan la Bib
Fanm, fanm, o fanm sansib
Ou se solèy kap klere palmis mwen an.


Wi ou se yon fanm natal fondamantal
Anj gadyen mwen, sent vyèj mwen, ala ou bèl
Lavi pagen oken sans san ou, chouchou
Ou se trezòm, fanm, fanm, espwa mwen
Ou se kèm, rèv mwen, nanm mwen
Fanm, fanm misterye, mwen damou ou.

P.S. Tradiksyon 'Joyous Women's Day'
Ki ekri Pa Hébert Logerie
Copyright © Mas 2019, Hébert Logerie, Tout dwa rezève
Hébert Logerie se otè plizyè liv pwezi.
It’s been a long time since I touched pen to paper,
Lost in the rhythm of endless, mediocre days,
Each tomorrow arriving void of hope or wish,
A quiet drift through time’s indifferent haze.

I have known joy, but never at its peak,
Felt sorrow, yet never plunged into the abyss.
I have wondered what I’ve missed,
Haunted by scars left by malice and neglect,
Each mark a whisper of what once was.

Chasing highs, avoiding lows,
I ran so far ahead, I left myself behind.
Did I do so unknowingly, or what I thought of my worth that led my steps astray?
I sought love in fleeting moments,
Connection in safety, sameness, the unknown—
A restless wanderer grasping at ghosts.

Trapped in the solitude of my own mind,
I called it freedom, mistook it for strength,
Blissfully unaware of how unhappy I was—
A prisoner who had long forgotten the cage.
Yet without purpose, I finally found myself.
I found strength through impotence,
peace through turmoil,
and abundance in desolation.
You may know how much
A woman loves you
By the way she sways
Like an exotic rose
With or without her kimono

Reynaldo Casison
Next page