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To feel weak, to feel tired, to be unbalanced from an unknown force and the pulsing in the gut.
It's a sleepy feeling as if the pain in the gut is dripping every ounce of energy through blood.
It's want to sleep for an eternity but stay awake so I don't miss anything.
Maybe it's because I had a panic attack yesterday.
Maybe it's the sugar cravings.
Maybe it's my mood swings being more restless than I am.
Maybe it's me being more weird if that's even possible.
It's strange being medicated when period cramps are present.
It's strange how my emotions feel stronger, sharper and more intense than usual.
It's my time of the month. So my period started and I wanted to put words to what I feel.
Carlo C Gomez Jul 29
In the tall grass
Lutalica girl
In places on the run
Stretched out in her awakening
Removes the dress of her captivity
To introduce herself to those she loves
There's something deeply unknowable
And terrifying in the arrival of her liberty
Sprung forth out of the box
She started from

Lutalica: the part of your identity that doesn't fit into categories.
- Jul 9
The soft edges of femininity,
Round, *******, complements,
Heels, ***** of the feet, sockets,

Soft eyes, soft hearts, soft hands
Tinkering, thanking, crossing, legs.

Girlhood is enclosed in a silver box
With mute pastels and a heavy soundtrack of strings,

Strings which bifurcate, dissect, divulge,
Horrors, bells, instruments and lush melodies.

Girlhood smells of iron, hot animals, heaving,
Converging, pin ******, the sharp alacrity of Knowing.

Eyes are wet, armpits go black , round edges
Protrude into a potbelly, grow and stagnate,
expand and collapse.
Carlo C Gomez Apr 26
In her sulking-place
alone and naked

framed in soft sepia
—the vintage, harlequin hue

at this supposed faded hour
she sits looking back on memory

she sits and stares
into the boudoir mirror

at herself
at her embonpoint

yes, at these *******
—at their landscape

how they fall
(like Niagara)

where they point
(like a compass)

what they tell (so fondly)
when pressed together

about their time
—their work and play

towers on the precipice
of judgment

both callous and

if the mirror
truly be her reflection

her vision is turned around
as illusion

—a study of tonality and tolerance
for one's own flesh

the room
an invitation

or perhaps
a lockaway

where she even keeps secrets
from herself

avenoir - n. the desire that memory could flow backward
callie Apr 4
i’m not yours.
i never have been
and for the life of me
i can’t figure out why you thought i was.

was it the way i dressed,
the way i acted,
or simply the look in my eyes?

or was it the things I can’t control,
the curves i grew and
the ******* i had no choice but
to have?

i never wanted this.
i never asked for this.
i don’t want your attention
or your wandering hands.

i want to be free to do what i’d like
just to be,
to just
let myself go.

but i can’t.
all because of a stupid little thing
that should be little
but is seen as big

why did i have to be a woman?

instead of living carefree
i have to be careful.

keep the legs always crossed
wear shirts up to your neck
be respectful
(but not too respectful,
lest they believe
you’re asking them for

but even if
you follow all the rules
they don’t care.

your very body is an invitation.

because what is ****** autonomy
in a male dominated world?

spoiler alert: there isn’t any.
Neelam Mar 29
This tiny being is said to be an abomination which invites the wrath of gods

Its frail figure is a defilement to the divine sanctuary

This little creature casts evil spells on the ardent devotees

It's a being created by thousands of shadowy shrouds

No one has ever seen the soul within the physical casing of the creature

They're the busy onlookers who have the right amount of money to purchase this delicate creature

Those merciless clouds were showering this tiny little thing with acid

Hyenas shattered the fragile creature

No one has ever seen the rueful cries and pleas of this mysterious creature

And they'll never be able to translate the pain of an unwanted child...
I was deeply saddened by the demise of the children and women around the world.
PV Mar 29
I am a mother
Although I’ve never carried a child in my womb
Or pushed life out of me

I am a mother,
Although I’ve never had any children who came from my blood
Or called me mom

I am a mother,
To the cat I care for so tenderly I would lay my life to save his
Or the little bugs and spiders I let out into the garden after
Storms have brought them in

I am a mother
To my parents, who needed me to grow up and be strong enough
That I could take care of them, and provide a safe place for them to regrow

I am a mother
To my family when they've needed a shoulder to cry on, or a hug
during times where life only seemed to hurt

I am a mother
To the team, I listen to and support when they have nowhere else to go

I am a mother
To the stranger that only needs to see a smile as we cross paths

I am a mother
To the lover that never had one

I am a mother
To the sister, I ferociously protect and will forever do so

I am a mother
To the boss who needs to know he’s is doing a good job

I am a mother
To the community that needs a voice to stand alongside them

I am a mother
To the friends who know I will always be there

I am a mother
To nature as I thank her for the beauty she is

I am a mother
To the world, who might never notice me but who I will love regardless

I am a mother
Although I’ve never carried a child in my womb
Or pushed life out of me,

I am a mother.
There it looms, a life like mountain/ sheathed in fynbos, all shades of green/ while the cape drags in reluctant seaweed/ and the wind makes contrails of my hair/

I ascend too with the heather, the rooibos and the hottentot/ We climb/ now a collective of exaggerated beauty/ defiant in wind, spray and fire/

There are leaves as prone as a flat lined heart/ reeds as resilient as a returning pulse/and we all watch the hope of yolk/ of a Sunday sun dipping into the ocean/promising to rise again/

We creep up the leeward and the windward/ ensconced in the spiral of a soul entropy/ determined to survive every rock and crevice/ to hoist ourselves up the flagpole of the cosmic plan/
I wove the Fynbos or the shrub vegetation of the Cape Floral Region (South Africa) in this poem dedicated to a resilient womanhood.
we damage our feet
squeezing into stilettos
we pluck our eyebrows
we polish our toes
we **** in our stomachs
afraid of what the scales will show
we scrub ourselves with a thousand lotions
spray ourselves with perfumes
it's as if we need to be sanitised
from the dirtiness that we learnt from the womb
from all the messages that we've consumed
messages insidiously obscuring the truth
what it means to be a woman

Whenever I
looked into
her eyes I
everythang I
ever desire.

In her words
I find hope,
word so
could Softly
make lions
eat grasses.
I sought
wife and I
have finally
myself life.

Her love is
my whole
I can't deny
what she
make me
It's true love
I'm seeing.

Her pretty
smiles gives
me courage
and her
brighten up
my faith.

When she
miracle tend
to happen.

She's so
charming alluring
skinned  her
presence could
make one
spend a
lifetime with
her without
home neither


her figure
curvy hips
that makes
me always
desired her.

She's truly
a pride
to the
She's my
woman of
life my

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