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fish-sama Dec 2024
Pin her upon bulletin boards
like some poster of a prize to possess             the crowd
putters past the perfect picture,
eyes across her breast
eyes averted from her breath:
for the smell reminds them she is not dead
she is something more she is their darkest moment she is aliv—
forget forget forget

They tied her with string, dulling pain
with sweet words, promises
of wealth
decay.
Maybe with time comes the slow death
of love, the dissolving
of once-revered offerings upon the shrine
of the meaning of "human"
on SALE. Gaze! Gaze upon
her line-marks of your so-called
respect slashing into her,
bands of red sash upon her pillars                      you, YOUR
hands suffocate,
deface that sweet taste of her crumbling of hash marks counting the days until the object falls to waste, discarded to die.
Years and years, again and again.
New posters, new pictures, new crowds.

forget forget forget
loudest was the music from her parties
loudest was her audacity
to come in a town
and challenge the town’s rules
stole neighbor’s dog
and sent a clear message

her degraded reputation
and unnoticed kindness
got her a tag of mad woman
never scared of bringing change
Now a role model
For women in her age
egg hot pot Nov 2024
the way you gaze at me
makes me want to **** myself
your eyes barely open
with an unpleasant expression
and a tint of disgust
and hints of censure
is what you look at me like
is that what i look like to you
Broadsky Nov 2024
It's 3:43am and I'm wondering if the spider in the corner of my bathroom is dreaming
I wonder if she knows about the sun and if she ever dreams of weaving a web in the moonlight
I wonder if she knows what I'm saying when I tell her "don't worry, i'll keep you safe" and I wonder if she believes me
Maria Etre Nov 2024
Someone told me
"love looks at decent
ones "

I nodded, sighed, and smirked
but love
made me
like
this

Unleashed my curls
broke my walls
shattered
my people-pleasing
sharpened my poetry
silenced my loud voice
widened my eyes
encouraged my heart
undressed my façade
made me dance naked
in the face of judgement,
sing the songs of truth
and fall in love with
all things wrong
right, left, ugly, beautiful
and gave strength
to the choice that
always stood in the back
but now takes center stage

"Love left me right",
"Love leaving, made me write"
I replied
*Right, write!
Every woman I have met has a story,
A story that sickens me to my core.
The narrative unfolds,
Like an apple she was to the eyes of the venomous serpent,
The serpent that took its life before it was even ripe.
Though just a bite he took, his toxin wove in too deep.
As she seeks aid, a voice said the harm has been done and time always runs a little too late.
How many of these stories remain untold?
A world filled with serpents and serpents that unfold.

                                Laai
This poem, titled The Serpent’s Bite, powerfully evokes the trauma and resilience of women who have suffered exploitation and harm. The “serpent” metaphor conveys the lurking danger that preys on women, cutting short innocence and potential before it fully blooms. The imagery of the “toxin” sinking deeply into the victim’s life highlights the lingering impact of such betrayal, one that isn’t easily undone even when help is sought. The poem mourns the countless untold stories of women who endure this pain, urging readers to recognize a world where serpents—symbols of predatory figures and systemic harm—continue to hide. Through its somber tone, The Serpent’s Bite is a call to acknowledge and address the silent suffering woven through many women’s lives.
Kaiden Lewis Nov 2024
She was a child but
"what was she wearing?"

"men have their needs"

"your body my choice"

"You asked for it"

"you made that up"

"i bet it wasnt even that bad"


Yet you complain when you get a cold
The painful reality of SA survivors
Ayla Grey Nov 2024
Gleaming from their natural glow
They walk
Eyelashes grown from pure innocence
They speak
Lips died red from tomorrow's sun
They stand
They're strong women: they fight

Mind crafted like an artisans glass bowl
But they don't shatter
Heart flowering like a rose bush
But theres thorns
Courage like a thousand burning flames
They stand
They're strong women: they fight

Gleaming from the tinted paint
I walked
Eyelashes covered but never healed
I spoke
Lips burnt red from yesterday's sun
I stood
I am a woman: I will fight

Mind broken like a cheap glass bowl
I'm shattered
Heart wilted like a frozen winters flower
Left with thorns
Courage burnt out like a dying flame
I stood
I'm just not strong like those women
egg hot pot Nov 2024
Here I was worrying about your soul,
While you destroyed my entire core;
I was waiting at the door,
But you made my entire body sore.

I gave you pieces I couldn’t afford,
Believed in things I could not ignore,
But your silence, it cut me to the core,
A thousand wounds, yet still, I swore.

I built you up from broken parts,
Gave you shelter, gave you heart,
But you tore apart what I had made,
Left me here in the cold, afraid.

I kept your name in every prayer,
Hoping you’d find your way to care,
But you, you vanished like the air,
And now I stand, unsure, aware.

Did you ever see the weight I bore?
The cracks beneath the things you swore?
Now I’m left with nothing more—
Just shadows knocking at my door.
Sara Barrett Nov 2024
Growing up as a girl, I watched and learned,
The truths of boys and men often go unturned.
“Boys will be boys,” a phrase we all know,
Implying that girls must shoulder the load.
This notion suggests that girls mature fast,
Leading to women who pick up the cast—
An unspoken burden, a silent decree,
To bear the weight of their irresponsibility.
In a world steeped in misogyny’s grasp,
Women face judgment; their futures unclasped.
Absorbing the shame of the games that they play,
While men to walk away, free to go on their way.
Many men abandon homes they once called their own,
Now seen as free, yet their true selves unknown.
Disgrace drapes over women like a heavy yoke—
A weight of neglect that shatters their hope.
This yoke is forged from promises unkept,
From fathers who vanish while their children wept.
He escapes guilt with practiced ease,
Dodging duty like a ghost on the breeze,
Claiming children and a wife he never knew,
While society laughs at the pain he withdrew.
Leaving his children to carry his woes—
Their identities shaped by the hurt that he chose.
His children learn quickly to shoulder the shame;
They remember who was the burden of blame—
Like he who claimed love but was never there.
Those left to carry his name feel the strain,
Learning of unfairness that echoes their pain.
Abandoned women and children continue to grow—
A daunting endeavor men wish to overthrow.
Yet shadows may linger, and burdens remain;
They’ll carve out a future where hope will maintain.
For every struggle faced will lead to the dawn—
A testament to strength as they carry on.
The poem “Left To Carry His Name” delves into the profound burdens that women and children endure as a result of men’s irresponsibility. This poem critiques the societal norms that enable men to escape accountability while women are left to shoulder the emotional and social consequences of abandonment. Through vivid imagery, it conveys the shame and struggle experienced by those who are left behind, underscoring their resilience as they strive for a brighter future. As the second piece in a series focused on gender roles and family dynamics, this work invites readers to reflect on how we can confront and change these deeply ingrained societal expectations.
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