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IncholPoem Jan 2019
Here   a  
              single  woman

Her  cottage  area

                was  on  top
                  of   hill.

In      only  December
that  old  woman  
lamped  her  house.

   One  night   the  lamp  light


   People   went  up
to  her  house,
saw  thousands
  creature  were

These  were  ready  to

sent   outside  the
solar  system's
planet  for
to   fool the  Earth
Permanently placed
Heavily covered in lace.


Full of determination
Yet the lack of representation.
No sense of protection
High expectations
That lead to
Constant self evaluation
And even when you're good enough
If not better than
You still never are to them
They treat you as an object
You're not yet
But you might as well be
A wax figurine.
i Wrote this along with an essay of mine about the lack of woman representation in Congress, hope you enjoy it’s one of my fav poems I’ve ever written
Sarah Rodríguez May 2018
Learn to love the color pink, because as soon as you are born you are smothered by all things cute and dainty, and yes of course they are pink, so learn to love the color pink, pink being the balloons that say things like “ Congrats it’s a Girl” as if  they would be proud to have such a thing. Pink as the muscles beneath our skin, pink as the human brain, but god forbid we think, pink as in meat, pink as in weak, pink as in baby blankets that are raised just a little too far over your head, pink as in let’s try again, pink as in you are weak, pink as in no, pink as in you can’t do that, pink as in me, pink as  an identity I will forever be forced to be in love with.
Always hold daddy’s hand, because they’re are bad men around every corner
Cross your legs and learn to sit still. You can’t play with toy cars your a little girl hot wheels are for the brave at heart you need a Malibu girl, something smooth and rounded, something you can’t ***** yourself on. Something that is perfect for the pink one.
Learn to herd to the bathroom. Never forget the buddy system because you don’t want to end up missing like the girl across the street
Learn early on that you should steal your mother’s makeup, no matter what she says, because with out it we look “tired”
Don’t be scared of blood, be scared of men.
Play with your hair, pull down your shirt, be exotic, and beautiful. Everyone loves a playful girl.
Don’t go back home till you have a good husband and a baby that didn’t turn out pink like you. A baby with an actual chance for greatness in this world.
Say no
Woman with no strength of few,
but many; you're the mountain dew
of which a river's made anew...
Woman we adore you.
You were moulded to give birth,
made from Adam's very rib
so that man his wife shall know
and Inside you "life" could grow.
Woman we adore you,
bone of our bones,
and flesh of our flesh;
you have something no man owns...
you're fruitful and timeless
and you were called: "woman,"
for you were taken out of man...
to become one flesh and hold his hand be a blessing in his life,
loved and honored as a faithful wife.
Woman we adore you,
your inner strength exceeds you;
made from dreams of man,
not specks of sand.
All were made of dust from earth,
but you made from God, since birth:
a defender, a nurturer, and mother
a comparable helper,
for man,  from the heart of Adam be made into a work of art;
from rib, so you won't break apart,
fashioned by the hand of I AM.
Inspired by the book of Genesis, to celebrate the birth of women. In the form of a poem
Maria Etre Mar 2017
I have been dragged through drama
swimming between problems
floating over ups
and tip toeing over downs

I have been here and there
walking with lovers
picking up broken pieces
holding hands with friends
forgiving enemies
moving on gracefully

I have been brought up
in the country
living in the city
dodging reality
loving fantasy
falling for stupidity
climbing back up, rationally
falling again and again
and still
my legs stand tall
holding a head full of wants
and a heart
bursting with desire
for so much
She didn't know why
but within the simple act
of a man taking off his belt
lay all the terrors in the universe

   But one day
this woman
she refused to be afraid for even
one more minute
   She refused to give sway
to fear anymore
   She refused to be a doormat
for one more bad egg
in the locker room
   She refused
to be
a fashion
Being a gay man whom has been victimized and discriminated against, I can totally relate.
Julie Grenness Jul 2015
Would this be true love to you?
He put up his dukes, so hot,
He hit me with his best shot,
I kicked him with my best shot,
Right in the groin, he was boy blue,
No one walks a mile in my shoes,
Would this be true love to you?
I missed the woman's right to choose!
Then Ma got pugilistic dementia,
Is this what God meant for ya?
She punched us all in the *****,
No one walks a mile in my shoes!
When stranger danger is at home,
Now I'm better off alone,
Was that true love, so hot?
He hit me with his best shot!
Feedback welcome.
Graff1980 Nov 2014
Regression is no longer mathematic or psychological
It’s a relevant to the violent movement of the social
So now guess we come back to this issues of woman’s right
I could have sworn we already fought and won this fight
Liberation and respect, birth control, and freedom of ***
The freedom to choose what they get to do with their own body
Society does not own their flesh or what grows beneath their *******
but I guess that’s just me

I thought the wisest among us had sorted this stuff out
My bad,
cause according to the gallop polls
The criminal politician, parish holding pulpit pounding preachers
Outdated texts from people without our level of science
And the people I knew growing up, who leave me throwing up,
Turning and twisting my stomach in the tightest knots,
Worrying about a problem I don’t got

But my obsession with justice and morality is causing my depression
My possession of a reasoning faculty is killing me
I guess I was mistaken the truth was already taken
And what gives me the right to fight the tide of the right’s religious revolution
Well ****,
how about you just keep your hands off her womb
Daylight 4U2C Jan 2014
A wicked woman told my love, "**** him and you will be free."
My love paused, and the wicked woman's old twig of a finger pointed off to me.
Love walked to me with tearful eyes, as if she had no choice.
I smiled wryly and told her in the softness of my voice, "Let it be done, and be free.
No sword is long enough to show my love for thee. No dagger, short enough to match my heart's beat.
So please my love, take your choice of my death. Choose what would be fit."
She didn't hesitate, just cry. She, slowly lifting a mirror from the dust.
I don't know why I felt I must, but I wiped the tears away just to savor her touch.
I looked into her sad blue eyes, just for one more glance. Then I shut my own.
I could feel her lift the mirror, this was her chance, let it be known.
A crashing blankness came down on me, soon after the last things I heard.
"I'm moving up, and you're moving down." These were her last words.
I didn't understand them then, but now I think I know.
She will one day be in the warm light, while I'm still stuck in the cold indigo.
I'd always run up the down escalator, like a crazy kid.
She always said, one day I'd trip.
And now I finally did.

— The End —