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Sara Barrett Feb 11
The most substantial burden women have ever endured was not the weight of motherhood, nor the physical toll of childbirth, nor the exhaustive list of responsibilities, including appointments, bills, meals, and future plans, that they often undertook alone.

The most substantial burden women have ever endured was the weight of a man's ego.

Fragile as glass, yet razor-sharp, it constantly required polishing, yet was incapable of shining independently.

A man who made promises he failed to keep, who spoke of sacrifice but never made any, who relied on women to do the work while he took the credit.

A man who needed constant reminders, coaching, and guidance, yet claimed to have accomplished everything on his own.

And when women sought truth, held up the mirror, and dared to say, 'You are not who you pretend to be,' his world crumbled.

Not because it was untrue, but because he was exposed.

And that was the real transgression.

For men can deceive, fail, and break promises with impunity, yet a woman who speaks the truth is vilified.

She is cruel, vicious, and ungrateful for all that he almost did.

And still, she carries the weight of everything: the household, children, meals, laundry, bills, plans, his future, failures, and lies.

While he claims it is hard for him, asks if she cannot simply be nice, and reminds her that he works hard for her.

But what does a man work for if his home is merely a place for a woman to serve, to build his life while sacrificing her own?

And what could women achieve if they never had to bear the weight of a man?
A raw and unapologetic piece about the invisible weight women carry—not just the physical and emotional labor of life but the crushing burden of a man’s ego. This poem exposes the hypocrisy of male entitlement, the way women are expected to build, serve, and sacrifice while men take credit, demand kindness, and call it “hard work.” But what if women were free from this weight? What could we become if we never had to carry a man’s failures, lies, or fragile pride?

For every woman who has ever been told to be “nicer,” to “appreciate” what was almost done, or to shrink herself so a man can shine—this one’s for you. 🔥
Sara Barrett Feb 5
It begins with a whisper,
a shadow stitched to her womb,
its weight pressing like a secret,
its roots spreading unseen.

They call it normal—
the blood that floods like rivers,
the cramps that steal her breath,
the clots dragging her body down.

Pain coils in her pelvis,
a fire that burns without end.
Her bladder aches, her bowels rebel,
her back bends beneath its weight.

They say it’s just being a woman,
but how do you explain the storms?
The tissue growing where it shouldn’t,
the scars binding organs into one.

She carries fatigue like a second skin,
her energy drained by invisible wars.
Her body becomes a battlefield—
every nerve alive with rebellion.

Doctors speak over her pain:
It’s all in your head, they insist.
But how do you imagine blood that stains,
or pain that splits you in two?

One day, she stops asking for answers.
She stands tall in the face of dismissal.
Her voice rises like thunder:
This is my body; I know it best.

Her womb is no longer their battlefield;
it is sacred ground she reclaims.
The shadow no longer consumes her—
it becomes part of her story, not its end.
"Pain as a Shadow" is a powerful exploration of chronic gynecological pain, vividly capturing the physical and emotional journey of living with conditions like endometriosis. This poem confronts the dismissal of women's pain in medical settings, challenging societal norms that normalize female suffering. Through visceral imagery and a defiant voice, it traces the path from silent endurance to empowered self-advocacy. The piece resonates with themes of ****** autonomy, medical gaslighting, and the reclamation of one's narrative in the face of invisible illness. It stands as a testament to the strength found in acknowledging one's own experience, offering solidarity to those who have faced similar struggles.
Sara Barrett Feb 3
In tenth grade, a boy said,  
“Washington, D.C. is in Virginia.”  
I corrected him—  
said it was neither and both,  
its own district.  
The teacher Googled it,  
read the truth out loud,  
then turned to me and said,  
“Apologize for disrupting the class.”  

So I did.  

And I have been saying sorry ever since.  

Sorry for knowing too much.  
For being too passionate,  
too emotional, too empathetic.  
Too much when I demand respect,  
too much when I react  
the way others do to me—  
but when I do it, it's wrong.  

I have learned that women must shrink  
to be acceptable.  
To be small enough to be tolerated.  
To swallow knowledge  
so it does not spill out  
and threaten fragile egos.  
To let silence replace truth  
because truth makes them uneasy.  

We are taught to apologize young.  
Sorry for our hair in the drain,  
for needing tampons and pads,  
for the price of our own biology.  
Sorry for bleeding,  
for growing,  
for existing in spaces  
where men believe we should not be.  

By puberty, we know—  
our bodies are currency,  
our voices are burdens,  
our presence requires permission.  

But not me. Not anymore.  

I have stood my ground—  
faced cruelty when it came for those I loved,  
thrown words like knives because no one else would protect them.  

I have refused to step aside—  
to move for those who walk as if they own the world.  

If you do not see me, you will feel me.  

I will not apologize for choosing my family over expectations.  
For shutting out the noise of a world that demands too much.  
For putting my healing first—  
even when it makes others uncomfortable.  

I will not apologize for being a woman.  

I will not apologize for the space I take up,  
for the voice I refuse to quiet,  
for the boundaries I dare to keep.  

I am done paying the apology tax—  
a tax I never owed in the first place.  

And now? I am collecting every debt:  
every moment of silence stolen from me,  
every inch of space I was told to surrender,  
every truth I swallowed so someone else could feel whole.

I am done saying sorry for being whole myself.

Let them learn to carry their discomfort—because I won’t carry it for them anymore
This poem is a powerful declaration of self-worth and defiance against societal expectations, especially for women. It explores themes of gender inequality, self-empowerment, and the emotional toll of constantly apologizing for one’s existence or actions. The speaker reflects on early experiences of being silenced and criticized for confidence, intelligence, and individuality, leading to a lifetime of unnecessary apologies.
The poem transitions into a bold rejection of these imposed norms, celebrating resilience, boundaries, and unapologetic self-expression. It is a call to reclaim space, voice, and identity while challenging others to confront their discomfort rather than forcing it onto others.
Sara Barrett Feb 2
When the marriage ends,  
and the child is still too small to understand  
what's been torn,  
why is it that the man tells his friends—  
"She was crazy."  
"She never got off her ***."  
"She was too emotional."  
"She never took care of the kids."  

And no one asks him,  
"Why did you stay?"  
Why did you have children with her?  
Why did you marry her in the first place?  
Why does she have full custody now?"  

No one dares to ask,  
because they already know.  

Men stay—  
for the comfort of control,  
for the invisible chains that bind women  
with babies,  
with promises that were never kept.  

They know,  
the way a child knows their mother’s touch  
but never her heart.  

The man knows his power in her silence,  
in her labor,  
in her sacrifices—  
the ones no one sees but her.  

And yet, when she walks away, they ask her,  
"Why did you stay so long?"  

Because they know the cost of leaving  
was more than she could afford.  

But still she walked.  

Still she left.  

Why did she stay?  

For the love she thought might change him.  
For the chance that maybe—just maybe—  
he’d become the man she believed in.  
For the hope that her children would have a father who cared.  

But he didn’t.  

He stayed because he knew—  
the house wouldn’t run without her.  
The kids wouldn’t be fed,  
the bills wouldn’t be paid,  
and the image of a family was more important than the truth.  

Men stay because it’s easier to claim a woman  
than to be the man they promised to be.  

And when she leaves, they don’t ask themselves,  
"Why couldn’t I be better?"  

They just ask,  
"Why did she stay so long?"
"The Unasked Questions" is a powerful exploration of the silent struggles women endure in challenging relationships, revealing the complex emotional landscape of marriage, separation, and societal judgment. Through raw, unflinching language, the poem exposes the systemic dynamics that trap women in cycles of sacrifice and silence, where men's narratives often overshadow women's lived experiences. Released during **National Teen Dating Violence Awareness and Prevention Month (TDVAM)** in February, it resonates with the theme of breaking free from control and reclaiming one's voice. The poem challenges reflexive blame placed on women by turning the lens on unasked questions—Why did he stay? Why did he have children? It dismantles convenient narratives while honoring the resilience of those who walk away despite overwhelming costs.
Sara Barrett Jan 29
They tell her, it’s not their place.  
Say, he’s always been good to me.  
Say, she should have left sooner.

They say a lot of things,  
but never the ones that matter.  

Her black eye is a private matter.  
Her broken ribs, just a lover’s spat.  
Her ******? A tragedy—  
but never a crime until her name  
is trending in the headlines.  

When she packed her bags,  
they called her selfish for breaking the family.  
When she stayed,  
they called her weak for not leaving.  

But where was she supposed to go?  
Shelters with no room?  
A courtroom where his lies outweigh her bruises?  
A graveyard where they’d whisper,  
She should have known better?  

They say, not all men.  
Say, he was under stress.  
Say, he’s a good dad,
as if a man who leaves his children hungry,  
their mother in pieces,  
is anything but a walking threat.  

And you—  
the man who doesn’t hit,  
but laughs at the ones who do.  
The one who turns away when your friend grabs her wrist too hard.  
The one who stays silent when your coworker brags,  
"I keep my woman in line."  

You are part of this.  

You are why she doesn’t call for help.  
Why she learns to stitch her own wounds in silence.  
Why she dies and they ask what she did to deserve it.  

The system says, report him.  
Then calls her bitter.  
Then hands him weekends with the children—  
the same children he left cowering behind locked doors.  

And when she’s gone, they’ll ask:  
Why didn’t she say something?

But all she ever did was scream  
into a void of indifferent men,  
silent women,  
and a world that let her be hunted.  

So hear this now:  

If you know, speak.  
If you see, stop him.  
If you call yourself an ally, act.  

Because the only men who fear consequences  
are the ones who know they deserve them.
"Bruised by Silence, Built on Indifference" is a poignant and unflinching exploration of domestic violence and societal complicity. Through powerful imagery and stark language, the poem confronts the indifference that often surrounds victims of abuse, highlighting the painful realities they face when seeking help or escaping their situations.
The poem critiques the harmful narratives that blame victims for their circumstances while calling out those who remain silent or dismissive in the face of violence. It challenges readers to recognize their roles—whether as bystanders or enablers and urges them to take action against abuse rather than perpetuating a culture of silence.
With its raw emotional depth and compelling call to allyship, this piece serves as both a reflection on systemic failures and a rallying cry for change. It speaks directly to the heart of the struggle many women endure, making their pain visible and demanding that we all become part of the solution.
Sara Barrett Jan 21
We are galaxies wrapped in human skin,  

Infinite and diverse

Short, tall, curved, angular,  

Painted in every shade beneath the sun.  

We carry stories like hidden constellations,  

Symphonies unheard by casual ears.  

Mothers, creators, dreamers, doers

More than the roles they give us.  

Some wear scrubs that heal,  

Some don suits that lead,  

Some wrap aprons around quiet dreams   

But always, there is more beneath the surface.  

We are silent strategists,  

Mapping emotions with a glance,  

Untangling life’s knots with quiet magic.  

We repair not only what has been broken.

We restore what is unseen.  

We write novels at midnight,  

Teach yoga or calculus with equal grace.  

We climb walls others fear facing,  

And drive highways under moonlit skies.  

They see simplicity where we hold storms,  

Calm exteriors hiding infinite layers.  

Mother. Worker. Wife.  

Labels are too small for the worlds we contain.  

Stop. Look closer. Listen deeply.  

We are not just women

We are universes waiting to be discovered,  

Galaxies hidden in plain sight,  

Architects of futures yet unwritten.
This poem explores the hidden depths of women’s lives—their untold stories, unseen challenges, and unrecognized strengths. It reflects on how women are often defined by surface-level roles—mother, professional, wife—that fail to capture the vastness of who they truly are. Beneath their calm exteriors lie galaxies of talents, passions, and resilience, quietly shaping the world in ways that often go unnoticed. This piece is a call to look beyond appearances, to listen deeply, and to acknowledge the infinite complexity and quiet power that women carry within them.
Sara Barrett Jan 11
I was not made to be quieted,
nor to shrink into the spaces they expect.
I am the storm,
the fire within,
learning to rise with each breath.

In the quiet, I find my power—
it is mine, not given,
crafted through pain, through growth,
and the wisdom that comes from standing tall alone.
I don’t need their validation—
I am whole,
I am enough.
This poem is a deep exploration of a woman's journey toward self-empowerment and resilience. With introspection and unwavering strength, it reflects the quiet power that comes from embracing one's own worth and overcoming societal expectations. It speaks to the process of discovering that true strength lies within, needing no validation or approval from anyone, especially not from men.
Sara Barrett Jan 6
The shoreline stares back at me—
Almost tasting it,
A distant, golden line lies ahead.

The tide is like a clenched fist,
Tightening around my ankles,
Dragging me down even further.

I tell myself I know this sea.
I have swum through it before,
Charted its depths,
I felt its pull, outlasted it.

But today, the water rises,
My chest feels the pressure.
Salt and silence fill my mouth,
Despite my kicks, the current grows stronger.

The waves swallow my screams.
Like a storm, PMDD surges—
No warning, no mercy.

My ribs tear,
Its voice floods my mind—
Why bother fighting it? Let go. Sink.

I claw at the water,
Not from strength,
But from fear—
This time, maybe I won’t make it.

Rage consumes me.
I rage that I can’t trust my own body,
That my mind betrays me,
Dragging me under,
While the world above remains calm.

Even as I sink, somewhere—
I feel it:
The part of me that will not drown.

She remembers the taste of sand,
The heat of sunlight was on her skin.

She will not let go.
Not now. Not ever.

The shore is still there,
Even if I can’t see it now.
I will rise to meet it.

My power is inevitable.
Sinking, But Rising is an emotionally charged exploration of the internal turmoil many women face, especially those experiencing PMDD, perimenopause, or the challenges of motherhood. The poem sheds light on the often misunderstood and invisible struggle of living with hormonal shifts that feel like a battle between mind and body, where women are unfairly labeled as "crazy" or "overreacting." It brings awareness to the lack of support, proper education, and understanding from society and medical professionals when it comes to women's reproductive health, especially during transitional years. The poem serves as a powerful reminder that while the tide of hormonal imbalance can feel overwhelming, women possess an undeniable strength and resilience, even when it seems as though everything is pulling them under. It emphasizes that women are not at fault for their bodies’ betrayals and that, despite the struggle, they will always rise.
Ashwin Kumar Oct 2024
In India, we need feminism
Because, it stands for equality
Before you start losing your calm
Please allow me to clarify
Feminism means not, women dominating men
It means equal rights for both men and women
And of course, women empowerment
Now, let me be blunt
India is not and has never been a great place for women
Our society enables male *******
In almost every sphere of life
Which ends up creating a lot of strife
It is time to change all of that
Hence, is feminism so important
Because, women need to find their voice
And for that, they must have a choice
To do what they desire
Without invoking the society's ire
So, it is time to dismantle our Brahminical patriarchy
Only then, can we really reform our society
Because, gender and caste go hand-in-hand
We cannot destroy gender inequality with a magic wand
It is necessary to strike at its very root
Which, essentially, is caste
For instance, why do so many rapes happen?
Because, they enable upper caste male *******
****** harassment and **** reinforce the caste structure
Thus, does the Manusmriti continue to influence gender
And proactively hinder women empowerment
Again, this is why feminism is so important
But it also needs to be intersectional
And include women at all levels
Of our wretched caste hierarchy
In order to achieve gender equality
It is necessary for Brahmin and Savarna women to take a pause
And allow Bahujan women to make uniformed choices for themselves
Instead of dictating terms to them all the time
Also, men need to be part of feminism
After all, inclusiveness is the very core of feminism
It transcends gender, ***, race, religion and caste
Was not Babasaheb Dr. B.R. Ambedkar one of India's greatest feminists?
It is thanks to this beautiful soul
That, at least in theory, are men and women equal
As far as our country is concerned
Therefore, feminism is something we greatly need
But it can be successful only when it includes everyone
Thus, in order to make India a much safer place for women
Everybody must adopt feminism
Because, it is equivalent to humanism!
Jai Bhim!!
Self-explanatory!!
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