#glassceiling
Freedom of will,
At least on where to fit,
Inside of the present box
From your neighborhood block.
You’re cut from the cloth,
Of your father, and mother’s from before.
Their barren streets of shame,
Now your platform, sterile and benign,
Ready for a new life to decay.
No, look for an escape,
Don’t let it rot your dreams,
Embrace a new way,
Choose a new kind of day.
Mar 13, 2021
Mar 13, 2021 at 1:56 AM UTC
Patriarchy is no glass ceiling
That you can shatter in one half-hearted blow
Or a fragile soap bubble
That you can pop easily with your acrylic nail
Instead it's a concrete roof
Built to trap your soul
To make you feel less of a human
And more of an object
It's a concrete roof with numerous cracks in it
Made by the women who came before us
And the women who live among us
For centuries they have spent their lives
Trying to build those cracks
So that light can enter
In our gloomy fates
And you have to do the same
For the women yet to come
So bring in your hammer, girl
We have some work to do
By some I mean a lot of it
We have to work for nights and days
Until the concrete crumbles to dust
And humanity breathes in free air
But don't you worry or freak out
Cause no matter how tough concrete is
The spirit of women will always be stronger
Jan 29, 2020
Jan 29, 2020 at 12:01 PM UTC
sixty-five million
broken hearts shattered, not glass-
the glass ceiling waits
Oct 25, 2019
Oct 25, 2019 at 11:05 AM UTC
Embarrassed at her crude, superficial motivations she continues. This is a hidden therapy she’s toying with. She thinks she isn’t any good. She doesn’t know as many words as he does.
Comparison is her damnation.
Look at her, she’s plastered herself to the floor.
Immobile, she can’t even reach the glass ceiling threshold.
He slithers away, contented.
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 4:12 PM UTC
Look into my eyes
Stared in to the glass
Look into your eyes
Scattered by it was
Look into the world
Horrifies and falls
None of us could pass
Trouble's back in rife
Look into the world
Through the vision *****
Never shall ceiling of glass
Harassing beauty of the life
October, 4th 2015
00:59 p.m.
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 10:07 PM UTC
*White.
Female.
Middle Class.
Heterosexual.
Agnostic.
Libertarian.*
Yeah.
That's me.
That's that first layer,
thin as the paper you could
read it on.
Just a
Jane Doe,
a nameless, faceless
demographic.
But peeling back the layers,
ripping through page on page of a complicated novel,
digging
down
into
a
bottomless
hole
to
China,
unravelling
the intricate
web of
stereotypestruthsliesassumptionsprejudice
and
there you will find
me,
a colorless genderless asexual
spirit whose frame
is crafted and molded
not with how the world
chooses to see me and
who "they" deem me to be;
no.
A guy that didn't know me well
once told me that I
spoke more urban than he
expected,
and I couldn't help but wonder why
someone from an urban area
couldn't speak like they were
from a city,
like somehow what he saw in my
whitefemaleheterosexualmiddleclassagnosticlibertarian
prologue forbade me
from speaking in colloquials and
abbreviations.
Oh, I apologize,
I laughed later to my friend,
**law students are supposed to speak
with an ostentatious vocabulary and
an heir of
(superfluous) arrogance.**
I am rarely a prototype
of what it means to be
White,
of what it means to be
female;
middle-class or not,
my parents insisted at age 8
that I begin to understand
the value of a dollar;
my sexuality indicates little
about my level of attraction
to the world around me;
agnostic is really just a term
I put because I'm still trying to
figure out whether I really
believe everything I was forced to
learn at Catholic school;
and isn't Libertarian just a fancy
word for I don't want to
choose liberal or conservative?
It's insulting to
ingest how much is
insinuated about
my depth in
the shallowest of pools.
My cheeks burn hot
with frustration as I
try to balance on a beam
cracking underneath the weight of
a world that is constantly begging me
to go back in the neatly
wrapped package from which
the world would prefer I
came.
I'm not someone
you can put in a *******
box and
label;
you can't contain my
shine behind
blackout blinds;
I will burst out of your bubble
and break your glass ceilings;
I will scream at the top of
my lungs in a soundproof room
until you HEAR me.
I'm not meant to be judged
by my cover,
and neither are you.
We are meant to be read.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 10:51 PM UTC