#misogyny
I am ready to face the world,
but the world isn’t ready to face me.
I preach your sins-
now I’m the sinner.
How am I the slanderer
in a world full of impostors
who tell you:
Be a good girl.
A nice girl.
A clean girl.
Don’t speak up.
Do not even dare.
Just be happy-
unaware.
Don’t be yourself.
Please do not be you.
It might accidentally
damage the vision
they have of you.
Don’t change the image-
a derision,
thinly veiled
with such precision
it hurts
to unveil
such painful truths.
Because along the way,
you did believe
it was you.
I’m supposed to keep it quiet-
my voice stifled, unheard.
All emotions bottled up,
bubbling on the surface,
brewing,
spewing,
waiting for a release-
a swift blow.
Trying not to suffocate,
I implode.
But I am not the broken one.
I am not to break.
To crumble.
I will not be left in shambles.
I turn around.
Take a stand.
Stripped of everything
not mine.
Ripping band-aids off my body-
my wounds have healed.
As fully healed
as you can see.
As fully me
as I can be.
I do not bother
to explain myself anymore.
Well, nevermore.
See me flaunt it.
I won’t quit.
I am ready
to face the world.
So be it.
Mar 31
Mar 31, 2026 at 10:22 AM UTC
there is no reason for a little girl to be mutilated and shamed for a desire we all possess
there were opportunities for self-discipline and self-control to be taught, but they chose violence instead
how?
how can this be purity or a cleanse?
a child left with scars and pain before she can even speak up or comprehend
it is a complete violation of human rights
derived from fear, myths, misogyny, and lies
you can’t tell that little girl she is whole when a part of her has died
this is not protection
it is a cruel act to suppress, punish, and control
it’s the kind of evil where you keep it on the low
no child should be punished for curiosity,
or for questioning those natural feelings that arise
you may think that lust is a sin, but this is no way to treat a human life
Mar 5
Mar 5, 2026 at 2:04 AM UTC
All I am is a woman in a male-dominated world,
and if I complain, then I’ll be waiting,
waiting only for a man to say I’m correct,
to validate my cries, to discover the legends I’ve already lived.
And I’ll be waiting, waiting for a man to tell me feminism is real,
as if it were never his indecent fear.
And I’ll be waiting. Waiting.
Waiting just for him to boast
that my ideas were futile
the day they were born.
And I’ll be waiting, waiting, waiting,
waiting,
waiting,
waiting,
waiting,
for a change.
Feb 27
Feb 27, 2026 at 2:20 AM UTC
If I wrote shelves and shelves of research,
And a man wrote one,
He would be loved, he would be held above,
Anything a woman ever could have done.
Jan 19
Jan 19, 2026 at 11:13 PM UTC
nine months.
a woman can grow a whole life
in that time,
but all i grew
was a headache diary
and a tolerance
for opiates
strong enough
to make me forget
my own name.
i learnt to sleep because
of the drugs
and survive
through the pain,
spent my days off
imagining
what a hammer could do
with a nail.
nine months later,
i finally sit across from him —
the neurologist.
the kind of professional,
who doesn’t need to
review your record
to have a diagnosis.
i tell him where it hurts,
when it comes,
the way it burns.
he tells me no.
he says, i’m wrong.
he types without
looking at me.
do you have any children?
i say,
no.
and without thinking,
without blinking,
without care,
he types:
not yet.
like i’m an unfinished woman.
a body of a waiting room,
inevitable,
late
to an appointment
i haven’t booked.
i leave thinking,
my god,
men will find a way
even in your most
agonising moments
in life
to remind you:
you’re a vessel
with unfulfilled duties,
currently on standby.
Nov 30, 2025
Nov 30, 2025 at 4:03 PM UTC
what was she doing
out
so late at night?
the world stripped of its light
is the most dangerous place
and she should have known better.
she should have stayed home
where it's safe,
this misunderstood princess
behind closed doors,
warmly tucked in her cage,
for she is too young
to be walking the streets
of her own town,
alone,
where every scent
will now feel like
a stitch
in the fabric of womanity
embroidered in stains
because people like you
find it easier
to place the blame
on the victim
instead of holding criminals
responsible.
you do realise
danger doesn't just
disappear with age
and wearing
a summer, cocktail, navy-wavy,
floral, a-line, tight little dress
with a cardigan
or without,
showing her arms or her legs
doesn't give anyone the right—
stop flipping the narrative,
for the love of god,
and start asking
the questions
that matter,
the questions
everyone avoids
still,
after centuries of shame.
what was he doing
out so late at night?
what was he doing?
but you don't, do you?
no one ever does.
is it too terrifying
to meet those thoughts?
I'm so ******* tired of warnings
dressed as wisdom,
tips cloaked as love,
text me when you're home,
aw, it shows that they care
but the meaning beneath it
is the fear
of her becoming
another headline
for taking up too much space
on the pavement at night
when all she amounts to
is a swallowable shape.
ask him instead,
why he treats the moonlight
as his playground
whilst she holds onto her phone,
999 glowing on the screen
just in case,
just in case,
just in case.
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 4:18 PM UTC
the account was mine,
so was the agreement
in principle
and yet,
after the appointment
the e-mails found
him,
thanking
him
for his time.
they shared the link with
him
to verify my identity
when they already knew
who i was:
only the wife.
Nov 12, 2025
Nov 12, 2025 at 2:36 PM UTC
There’s a piece of me
thrown in ungraspable territory
Forever captured by bigotry -
belonging to those who silently used me.
Unknowingly, I was greeting it -
Smiling as teachers witness absurdities
Thankful as they complimented my body
Proud when the shy guy finally touched me.
Little did I know it was demeaning
I’ve been deceived about the relevance of my skin
Not abused nor victimised
We’d laugh - so much it was normalised.
Later defiance sprang from envy
I’d bring a knife to the party, act a little sassy
I’d talk back when they chased me, wear a skirt insolently.
Just testing boundaries as they fancy my body -
may I help them **** off at the sight of me?
//
And after all that time there’s a piece in me
One part shame one part indignity
Forever confused and tranquilly fury.
Oct 18, 2025
Oct 18, 2025 at 4:45 PM UTC
Bettie
The most emo girl
I’ll ever know
Bettie
Her smile was a bright light
At the Darkroom
petite and sweet
cute to boot
Her kind green eyes
found mine
Full of tears and fear
mascara smeared
She took me by the hand
She led me to the sound
She pulled me in to dance
and sing along to mad songs
Played by her man and his band
He planned a fallacy
We sang loud, we screamed
We jumped up and down
And we were okay, lost in a rare moment
But we woke up with no voice
Our hearts crushed, was it lust?
Were we really stupid *****
Perky **** with cotton candy wits, huh?
It’s a good thing
you’re so pretty
Because you’ll find
a man to marry
As long as you keep
Your mouth shut
and your legs open
Not too much
Not too little
I wish I could take away your pain
Because it’s deep in me too
#MeToo was too late for you
It’s tragic it’s too late to relate
kindred spirits separate
No click click to get on with
Left here holding the pain.
They say you’re at peace
I hope you are, you deserve it
It was too much and it had to stop
No one would listen
now there is a spot missing
For you on stage
We should be singing together
About how we’ve had enough
We should be screaming together
About their gaze and graze
their misogynistic
Mind games that
Stole our innocence
and buried us in shame
You should still be here
Putting men in their places
I say wait, my heart breaks
anger rises because
Another one skates away
They should be gone
They should live with shame
But they just skate away
Why do I only relate with the ones below?
Suicidal role models
The world cries when it’s too late
I heard your song but was too far away
Aug 28, 2025
Aug 28, 2025 at 1:52 PM UTC
I have oil rigs beneath my skin
Machines drill behind my bones
My body is my sin
By power it is owned
No man could ever comprehend
The pain of simply being,
Only my heart can be my end
Behind the skin you’re seeing
Morsels of my past and present
Tangled
In mangled
Intestine.
That’s right where you'd want to be;
Deep inside
The dark machine.
To conquer me is to fulfill your need,
And feed your shameful lust.
My ending lies in your hands,
Take advantage of my
Fruitful land.
Aug 9, 2025
Aug 9, 2025 at 7:05 PM UTC
It's a weapon
I was told I need to cover
It's my body,
My soul,
And my laughter.
How could you look at me —your daughter —
And believe I'm trying to tempt my own brother ?
She says my body
Speaks too boldly
That I have to soften my edges,
Hide my hips,
and round out my corners.
Cutting down my legs
To look like less,
To not ******
Like you warned me,
Back when I was smaller.
But tell me,
How could you protect your sons
When you never learned
How to have a daughter?
Jul 21, 2025
Jul 21, 2025 at 7:40 AM UTC
one day she was sent
to a man sprawled ‘cross the pavement
in blistering sun
he, ignored by everyone.
the nice girl instinct compelled her,
alongside Hippocratic responsibility as a doctor.
her good samaritan arc began,
he her neighbour, the collapsed man
she offers him aid,
and suggests he move to the shade.
her medical assessment deems him well
but onlooker pressure to do more, she cannot quell.
he asks her to buy him heavy drink-
she tells him to have another think.
they compromise and she buys him food
just like a good samaritan should.
She wishes him a good afternoon
but all too soon
the tale begins to muddle
as he approaches for a ‘cuddle’
her sense of unease
overwhelms her compulsion to people please
“I’d rather not but all the best though”!
- he snaps and his true colours show.
the nausea hits
as he starts to shout about her ****
and chips at her sense of self respect
with an accusing “you look like you like ***
she fights irate tears
over his leers,
summons her tough
and states that’s enough.
when he spits on her feet
she backs down the street,
maintains her false front
as he yells ******* c* * *.
words shouldn’t cut
but she’s branded a s* * *
and yes, we should not give to receive
but oh how i grieve
that to help is to choose
sexist abuse
i want to follow jesus’ ways
but he did not have to contend with the f****** male gaze
Jun 30, 2025
Jun 30, 2025 at 11:47 AM UTC
is it something in the water?
or the way they’re taught to win?
“if she tells you no, keep trying.”
as if love is a door
that needs to be kicked in.
even my father
with his anger
loud, burning, and red.
as well as my brothers
one who inherited my father’s anger
and the other
who thinks **** jokes are funny.
and the boys i grow to love
with gentle hands
and painful ignorance
they are all evil in some way.
not always with cruel intentions
but with neglectfulness.
in making promises like they’re disposable.
in the way they leave
without calling it leaving.
i used to think it was just my bad luck
how they are raised
how they are forgiven
or how they aren’t
how they are never told they’ve hurt someone
until she tells them.
until she weeps before their eyes.
and asks them what she did wrong.
May 23, 2025
May 23, 2025 at 6:17 PM UTC
i hate the way men look at me
jesus never had to deal with that
May 20, 2025
May 20, 2025 at 8:51 PM UTC
How can they say what MY nature is?
That what I was born with dictates my temperament.
I must nurture and endure the pain,
Allowing my body to be distorted and bloated,
All for some husband to have a mini-him,
And to add to my constant laboring.
Men socialized to treat a wife like a mother,
Coddled and fawned over by her,
Allowed to come back from work to a home cooked meal,
While their wife's endless work never ceases.
May 12, 2025
May 12, 2025 at 9:15 PM UTC
in the end of it
you are alone with it
and when the men stare at you
and ridicule you
their fingers pointing at your body
you sit there and laugh
your heart out
i could
take it out
i chose to break the silence
when no one had my back
but the cold stone wall
/stuck in headlights/
your back to the wall
to fight alone
tonight is the night
i end you
and no one understands
the depth of it
until they take my shoes
but they come to realize
they dont fit them
it ends tonight
with the morning light
a woman's grief
a fiery pit
Mar 19, 2025
Mar 19, 2025 at 5:21 PM UTC
I’ll discuss
The disgust I feel
When I see
Your ugly mug
Feb 23, 2025
Feb 23, 2025 at 10:42 PM UTC
Growing up, a girl watches, learns,
The truths of boys and men—
so often unturned.
“Boys will be boys,”
a phrase we know,
implying girls must shoulder the load.
Girls mature fast,
women pick up the cast—
an unspoken burden, a silent decree:
Bear the weight of their irresponsibility.
In a world gripped by misogyny,
women face judgment,
their futures unclasped.
Absorbing shame for games they play,
men walk away, free to go their way.
Homes abandoned,
men now free,
their true selves unknown.
Disgrace drapes women—a heavy yoke,
neglect shatters hope.
Promises unkept,
fathers vanish as children wept.
Guilt escaped with practiced ease,
duty dodged, a ghost on the breeze.
Children and wife he never knew,
society laughs at the pain he withdrew.
Children carry his woes—
identities shaped by the hurt he chose.
Shame shouldered early,
remembering blame.
Love claimed,
but never there.
Strain felt in his name,
unfairness echoes.
Abandoned women and children grow—
a daunting endeavor men overthrow.
Shadows linger, burdens remain;
a future carved where hope will maintain.
Every struggle faced—a dawn,
strength carries on.
Nov 10, 2024
Nov 10, 2024 at 11:24 PM UTC
In a society,
There’s a tree called misogyny,
Where its deep roots
Grow into all girls,
Who develop in agony,
Facing judgment that feels relentless,
Much of it unspoken, a harsh irony.
This judgment seeps into our daily strife,
Trapping us within roles that limit our life.
Narrow expectations stifle our dreams,
While society’s pressure bursts at the seams.
We’re told how to act, what to say and wear,
As if our true selves are too much to bear.
Dreams of freedom fuel our inner symphony,
A quest to end this cycle of regulatory authority.
She bears the weight of expectations,
A load shaped by herstory’s complications.
With a heavy heart, she watched the tragedy,
As blame is passed down through each family.
Inheriting struggles, a cycle we see,
Each woman’s journey marked by disparity.
Disappointments linger, like shadows they stay,
A legacy of women woven in silence and gray.
The silence among women she cherished felt heavy,
An unspoken vow that let men be merry
Free from their own responsibility,
Caught in a system that kept them confined,
With “They didn’t know better” echoing in mind.
Hiding complicity in voices suppressed,
In a world where their wisdom was rarely expressed.
Each story unspoken, a weight they all share,
Navigating life with caution and care.
Yet deep in their hearts lies a yearning to be,
More than the shadows of what they could see.
In the silence, a strength that quietly grows,
A call for the change that each woman knows.
Nov 10, 2024
Nov 10, 2024 at 8:58 PM UTC
When I was a girl
I thought I could be anything I wanted
I didn’t realize I would grow up
To be a woman
That I was forever ‘and her’
Instead of them
That my father loved me
As an exception
And I would have to witness my sisters
Wither away in happiness
I found out that I was not the ‘public’
In public transportation
That I needed to switch my grocery run times
Every now and then
Discovered the places where a hat
Could be the best weapon
On Sundays, I dress up and buy pretty roses for my table
To keep from remembering that
If someone wanted
There was nothing I could do to stop them
Nov 6, 2024
Nov 6, 2024 at 6:17 PM UTC
The winter breeze comes to rob the trees of their leaves.
With those leaves flows her light linen layer.
The shawl isn’t nearly enough to combat the cold,
So why would he be?
She shivers, the air’s frigidity insulting her sleek bronze surface.
“Let me hold you,” he says, “you’re so beautiful.”
Her eyes downcast and her knees pinch.
“Look at those beautiful eyes,” he says,
“Why don’t you will them to look into mine?”
She lifts them, heavy, and absently meets his.
Her lashes are frosted white.
The hypothermia wouldn’t take long to take her.
Her mind pleads, help, help, help,
But her thoughts seem to be freezing slowly at the same rate as her body.
Her lips tremble and crack as she separates them.
“Look at those beautiful lips,” he says, “Come here and let them meet mine”
She tightens the shawl to her skin, but it’s already lost all sense.
She’s already losing all sense.
“Don’t be ashamed,” he says, “you’re so beautiful.”
Her arms tense, but the light fabric seems fleeting from them.
Her light mind,
Fleeting from her…
His arms open,
“Come here, beautiful, why don’t you see?”
She whimpers, shakily, a plea:
“please.”
She crumples into his arms.
“You’re so beautiful, why don’t you see?”
“I don’t want to be beautiful,” she says,
She falls right through.
He was never there.
“I want to be alive.”
Oct 30, 2024
Oct 30, 2024 at 11:28 PM UTC
Locked into place.
Orwell’s boot on our face.
The human tragedy.
The human disgrace.
We slept with the enemy;
accepted his embrace.
“Aren’t things better now?”
they say; and it can’t be denied–
some things are better.
But is the difference so wide?
“Isn’t it enough, what I do for you?
Do I have to be perfect, too?”
No one is perfect. And I have gratitude.
But I’m waiting, still waiting
for one thing from you:
Admit what’s been done,
by your kind (and yes, you)
Don’t pretend to be blind.
Admit what we gave.
And what you received.
Admit what you took.
And how we weren’t believed.
When you bear this witness,
When you testify
We’ll be friends forever,
You and I.
Oct 5, 2024
Oct 5, 2024 at 12:34 AM UTC