Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Skye Sep 2019
She
Gone were the days where women are damsel in distress
We still wear our black and golden tresses but
we are warriors

Gone were the days where princesses are supposed to just look pretty
Come on now, we aren’t that petty
We aren’t begging for pity

We are more than crowns and labels and titles
We’ve learned to pick-up swords
We reach for the moon and stars
We have long mended our own wounds and scars

We soar though castles of clouds
Where your judgement blows up in smokes
Where there’s nothing but acceptance of diversities
Where we aren’t defined by how good of a cook we are not
Or how good we are at keeping an entire household sparkling clean

A woman isn’t just a woman
She’s madness and beauty at the same time

Chaos and calm if you will closely look
She’s weakness and strength combined into one amazing soul
Too rare and abundant in this world

She is a woman and yet, she’s more than just a woman
Jayla A Murdock Aug 2019
She is distinct
known For her vernacular
They say it's different for her "kind"
For her style, they say is peculiar yet captivating
Compared to the expected.

Is it who she is?

Surrounded by those who are "different"
So they say
But in what way
Looking different on the outside,
But she wasn't too blame
Or put to shame

Is it so she is?

Trying to find her place in a world so black so white

Is it so she is?

Is it who she tries to be.
dani Apr 2019
Women are unconsciously unaware of their powers
We are all filled with so much passion and affection
We could move mountains with our souls
If they were set on fire
Foreign factors will try to creep into our minds
And convince us
That we are worthless
The reason behind it
Is that there is nothing in this world
That could truly carry us women
We must empower ourselves
It was a really long time ago,
When everyone used to walk naked,
tanned, baked in the sun.
But in the recent times, all those moments are over, all that time is done.
Short clothed, women think they look extravagant,
But right now walking through these Indian roads wearing them seems to be a bit irrelevant.
Raise a voice and men try to shut it down ,
Respect from a husband only lasts until the wife wears that white gown.
Mothers at home crying, stressed,
And out of regret they beat their *******.
Only living for the sake of their children, hoping that at least they'll get some respect out of them,
But now all that's over, all that's gone.
In the recent times women have kind of lost their fear,
Deep inside a beast is rising for the betterment,
Now the ending of those sorrows are near.
Now is the beginning of women empowerment.
For all the women who are suffering at the hands of horrid men, you have to stand up because ladies do come first!
I am sick
with rage
of the centuries
with women
being abused
and *****
now the
phoenix rises
with justice
let freedom ring
Denise Jul 2018
You’re pretty… he says
for a dark-skinned girl
I usually don’t talk to your kind.
am I supposed to feel honor?
you hopped of your pedestal, down to mine?
I will not curve my lips into the half of the crescent moon that you’re expecting
you do not deserve that.
exclusion encumbers me and I am small in your eyes.
Surely you can see that I am a dark girl,  sweet berries ; color of night
the same colors that allowed my ancestors to take flight.
freeing them from *******,
wounds that had them tied, without my hue, we would’ve died.
I am a stone immortal, no work of erosion can seep through my cracks.
the trials of my ancestors drawn on their backs.
so our heads, we never hang down , we are to be found.
scars to be hidden
it is the gas in a run-away car,
that last sip an alcoholic has as their arm and wrist lay dangling at the bar
this is the prestige of my hue
if I’m just pretty? then what could beauty possibly mean to you. a rare blend of  history, struggle and strength.
My head will not hang, not once more
by noose or in self distress, I am history.
No more do I long to sit at a table with you,
in the wake of waiting for your admiration
I have created my own table, in appreciation of your hesitation.
To you my worth will always be in comparison to what’s missing
that being pretty for a dark-skin girl, is a blessing.
Worth far more than bedazzled insults
, convinced I was worth less
they could see it in my eyes, the way I dressed.
The hue that I am is far greater than they told me
accepting  back handed accolades,  that’s the old me.
This house that holds my soul is only almost pretty… they say
if I weren’t so dark I might be worth loving, caring wanting or staying.
My color, a rustic espresso, no cream.
you say I am pretty for a dark- skinned girl …
no I’m pretty and that’s it!
signed a FED UP dark skinned chick
Ashwin Kumar Aug 2017
70 years of supposed independence
Yet no real freedom for women
In a society dominated by men
Drowned, is a woman's voice
We need Azadi from Patriarchy
Money and power aren't everything
Without love, life is nothing
Above all, are relationships and life quality
Is there no end to ****?
Why is marital **** legal?
Our system is so feudal
Marriage is such a shame
Marred by domestic violence
Divorce, a traumatic experience
No freedom to choose her career
Family is supposed to be better
No freedom for inter-religious marriage
If she does, it's labelled Love Jihad
Frankly, we are tired
Demand an end to this carnage
She can dress as she pleases
She can roam at night
She can marry anyone she loves
To question her, you have no right
This poem is for all Indian women, and also for men who don't support a system like Patriarchy which promotes inequality and ******* of one gender over the other
Her
Her lips can create poems,
Her mind creates another world.
Her hands create changes in anything
Her heart can create a love that can drown you whole.
Her eyes create a better perspective,
and her mere being creates a home.

Yet you only wanted what's between her legs,
and couldn't stand what it can create.

Just, ****...
A poem for single (abandoned) moms
Meenu Syriac Mar 2017
She
She is a storm, an earthquake
Loud and thunderous.
That relentless, fervent soul,
Spitting flames that burn you whole. Dreamer, believer
With roots that entwine deep with the ground
And branches that tower high above.
She can walk on fire,
Leave you breathless for more.
She was once you and me,
Trading dreams for convenience,
Love for dignity,
And freedom for survival.
But for every chain that bound her,
Every cage that held her,
She rose higher and higher.
A warrior stands under the burning sun,
And somewhere beyond the valley,
The rhythm of a revolution
Begs to be heard.
She has a voice now,
And she will never stop.
©Meenu Syriac

— The End —