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Louis Segoe Nov 2021
How long woman is wild when she is alone?
How far woman can reach without her soulmate?

How quick woman can fall in her endless waiting!
How fun woman can die if she is alone in big house!

How strong woman can fight looking her husband die?
How big woman can dream if her husband is not rich?

Which wills woman can have if her husband is poor?
Which knot can win woman to unknot if her husband is bleeding?

Which well can be nearly for widowed **** woman?
Which well can be so far for kind widowed woman?

Which heart woman can have if her children are prisoned?
Which decision woman can take if prison guard needs her to ler her kids get out of steels?

How fun is man thinking he owns her wife's heart!
What happens when he is died so?


After understanding all that I asked my mind grandpa, how dare she talks women in that way he told me "all women not like that" and again " non kind hearted woman Are married with Sky"
Women's mind and power depends on  time.
Keep watching!!!!
Ileana Amara Mar 2021
with a sophisticated touch,
a burning wildfire heart,
a chaotic mind unmatched,
she is a strong woman, an art.

and when they ask,
"when strong women are down,
to whom or when do they unmask?"
i'd say they'll weep but never be their own let down.

IA
03.12.21.| a pretty flawed poem but i hope it's not late to celebrate international women's month.
Shibu Varkey Dec 2020
May broken hearts be mended,
Broken dreams come true.

May the fractured human rapport,
be restored like t'was of yore.

May the poor and the needy,
Find means to prosper and grow

May the cheated and defrauded,
Get justice recompense their due.

May the lonely ones in prisons,
Chained for causes untrue,
Be freed of unjust detention,
Their honor restored too.

The oppressed tribal Indians,
whose home this nation's too,
Uplifted and empowered
Their right to live ensured.

The battered Indian woman,
Bearing violation cruel
Of a patriarchal nation,
Liberated at last be soon.

Humane, magnanimous people
Valuing lives above faiths and notions.
Indians together as one brethren,
Trekking onwards, one destination.
Saga Sep 2020
The echo of footsteps in a concrete tunnel.
At the end there’s a yellow light.
Flies swarming to the yellow light, bright.

But in here it’s dark, dark and humid.
The humidity of her breath forming clouds over her head.
In the end of the tunnel you can see the clouds with your eyes but in here all she can see are eyes.
Eyes watching, she’s watching them.

In the end of the tunnel there’s only a smile.
A smile piercing and cutting.
There are others there but they are blind.
Blinded zombies staring at the concrete wall.

They’re alone in the crowd, her and the smile.
She turns back through the concrete tunnel.
On the backs of the women before us
Stands legacy and triumph,
Women like Anna Komnene  
Who saved her father’s reputation, knew the classics,
And supervised hospitals,
Proving you can be royalty and brilliant,
Empress Wu,
The only known empress in early Chinese history,
Who challenged the norms for women liberation,

On the backs of the women before us,
Are the Roasies,
The strong women who joined industry and steel during World War 2,
Doing a man’s job,
Showing women have muscle,
A group known as the night witches
Women who bombed ****’s in the darkest hours,
Showing women can fight,

On the backs of the women before us,
Sacajawea,
Who at 16 trekked the mid-west with Lewis and Clark with a baby on her back,
Proving women can endure,  
Kathrine Johnson,
Who proved to the world gender and color doesn’t matter,
Anyone can use mathematics for the growth of humanity,
Rosa Parks, who looked into the eyes of a white man,
And refused to give up her seat,
Proving that women can revolt,
Nellie Bly,
Who mothered investigative journalism,
Florence nightingale,
Who without her nursing wouldn’t have its roots,

On the backs of the women today,
Is Malala who at 15 was shot for standing up for a girl’s right for education,
Or Gretta Thunberg who at 17 is fighting for a greener earth,

On the backs of the women before us,
And on the backs of the women today,
Are women showing girls that tomorrow and the day after,
They can look into the eye of a man and say
Try me.. I’ll go far
Written in honor of women's history month
GENERATION EQUALITY

It is equality when you work with her.
It is equality when she leads the team.
It is equality to see her, think her and call her the boss.
It is equality when she promotes her accomplishments.

It is equality to pay her the same as him for the same job.
It is for sure equality when you give her credit for that brilliant idea.
It is totally equality to admit she is more competent so she gets the job.
It is equality when she has an opinion and is confident to make it known.

It is equality when deciding for herself is norm.
It is equality when bias and stereotypes no longer define her.
It is equality when her achievements are no longer firsts.
It is equality when she is well represented in critical areas of concern.

It is definitely equality to treat her with respect and dignity.
It is absolutely equality to fight alongside her for peace and justice.
It is real equality to be her allie, support her future openly.
It is surely equality for her to reclaim and take up spaces.

Not just a woman, not just a girl, not just because she is your mother or wife,
Not just as your sister or your aunty, not just because she is your daughter,
But as the very evident, clear as day Human that she is in this generation and
Generations more to come.

An integral part of a collective whole, we all need to better uphold.  
Each one responsible, Each one acting consciously, Each one shaping up,
A generation for equality.

Belema .S. Ekine
belemascribbles
It is International Women's Day 2020. Gender equality, gender parity is the way forward for our generation and the world. Let's be secure enough in ourselves to play our part in encouraging and promoting equality for women and for all.  We are stronger, better and more enabled together
A woman has it all
A woman who believes
In her own strength

She can build
And break if she wants
The false
And truths
In her castle so strong

A flower in the wild
No vase can contain
A flower so tame
Beautifies every vase

Moments can break her
Archiving some
She knows to make moments
To enliven her

Giving wings to her thoughts
Voicing the same
Stringing them in a garland
Of compassion for all

A woman has it all
A woman who believes
In her own strength
To every woman, happy women’s day:)
hiba sajid Mar 2020
Women make it all look easy
walking on a tight rope,
balancing all their struggles,
whilst juggling with work and a domestic chore,
motherhood and inequality,
abuse and other troubles.

Yet they have a warm smile,
like a daffodil garden during March.
A heart filled with kindness,
like a picturesque sunset by the river.
And a mind fuelled with passion,
ready to conquer the world
& inspire the women of tomorrow.
Happy International women's day
Women have to work twice as hard as men to be seen as half as good as men, yet we make it look all easy.
Calla Fuqua Dec 2019
We were all born crying,
And sometimes I think that even our tiny bodies could already feel the pressure of an unfair world.
A world where women’s bodies are a prize to be won or an object to rank.
A world where people obey the sign in the museum that says “Do Not Touch”,
And those same people decide that it’s a suggestion when a woman says “Do not touch”

Hands on my body before my first period.
Not sweet hands like sweet caroline.
Before, evil was something I used to look for in Disney villains, now, it’s eyes are everywhere, glued to my 17 year old body.
It’s in my neighborhood, in my coffee shop, in my bed. It whispers me shakespearean sonnets and tells me I’m ****.
Runs its fingers up and down my spine, zig zagging over the bone. Its kisses are soft and gentle, like springtime. It makes me feel important and deserving.
Then the sonnets turn from Romeo and Juliet to Macbeth, and It tells me:

****** thou art; ****** will be thy end.

Touching hands, not sweet hands.
Hard, cold, unloving, cigarette stained hands.
Cold hands on my beautiful body, my spectacular self.
I call out to nothing, and nothing responds.
I sink deeper into the bed, wanting time to stop, fast forward, or rewind or something.
I wait for the sonnets to end, and the pain to go away.
I wait for grass to grow and paint to dry.
And then it stops

and I am not me.
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