#malegaze
It feels as if I can’t escape from their gaze
I’ve been hazed into womanhood
It wasn’t a phase
When I was just a girl my ingenue was used
Treated like something that should be abused
And when I served my purpose to amuse
I would be blown out like a fuse
When I was just a girl I learned how to choose
The choice to behave or die
The choice to live in fear or lie
The choice didn’t come simply
And neither did I
And when I was older I hungered
I starved
I wished and wished for something far greater than myself to take charge
But no one was coming to save me
No one but, I
So I made the choice
The choice to lie
And there I lied
As the gaze crept up on me
And grabbed me all over
And in my head, I whispered “Soon, it will be over.”
And when I served my purpose to amuse
I found myself quite confused
I was no longer the girl I once knew
Sep 17, 2024
Sep 17, 2024 at 8:52 PM UTC
Women - made to your pleasure.
They’ll stretch, strain, shrink to your desire-
A size smaller, sir? Why yes, of course.
Hate, hate, hate until that is all there is,
But you must smile, sweetheart
Because good girls don’t bite.
We scream, shriek, shake,
scratching from
within
But never tear open the skin which
binds us.
Girls, grown in poisoned soils,
fed lies laced with promise-
of beauty.
Fertilised in the rolling rumours
That one day they will be plucked,
ripe and ready to bloom.
Blossoming, we and they and she
twist and turn, seeking to bask in the light
Of His smile’s golden rays
and overpower the rotting perfume
of fallen petals.
What they don’t tell you, girls
Is that once harvested,
blossoms will wilt
leaves will dry
ripe fruit will rot.
And all that is left
is the stench of your own flailing,
peeling skin
And the echo of a dream,
a petal drowning in the stream.
In the stream, she stares -
longingly, lustfully, lovingly,
But as the profile forms, her features break
and away with the current goes
her eyes, her lips, her nose.
Until all that is left is the rippling current
and the memory of the girl who was,
And the heaving breathes of the girl who is,
bent over the stream
and howling to the moon.
No longer exists
the face of the past
But her memory will haunt
you forever -
to the alter, and to the coffin.
25/10/23
May 31, 2024
May 31, 2024 at 1:20 PM UTC
I could never love myself through the male gaze,
every part of me dissected into something that is nothing
objectified and dismembered into significantly insignificant categories
criticized, and ostracized from humanly functions
only to be put on display
as a mannequin.
Jul 9, 2022
Jul 9, 2022 at 2:21 AM UTC
sometimes i wonder about the kind of girl i would have grown up to be if my trauma had never ceased to exist.
if i had never spent decades of my youth trying to mold my imperfections to the male gazes' views on what it meant to be a lady.
would i still have lived in the sin that led me to the wages of death or would i have lived freely with the spirit of the holy that showered me with serenity?
would i still have fought so hard for the freedom and solace that had never belonged to the violence of the patriarchy or would i have sat crossed legged in a chair like the woman my ancestors would have rendered me to be?
would i still have let the boys that masqueraded as men, see the forbidden depths of my God given body or would i have clothed myself with competence and capability? if my trauma had never ceased to exist, would this version of me just live to be seen as an example of who i never wanted to be?
Oct 5, 2021
Oct 5, 2021 at 12:56 AM UTC