#objectified
Thin folds extended from cloth
Outline, thick-edged for effect
Dimension, pride, hardly there
Fare-skinned, bare, fixed stare
All yours, never turned around
Free, sheet-locked paper girls
Forever static and immutable
Stationery, penned all to see
No fear of harm or duplicity
May 9
May 9, 2026 at 7:49 PM UTC
I struggle so deeply
to feel at home in my body,
all I feel when I look at my chest
is all of the men that used me like a doll
of my mom shaming me in my head
for my big *******
and how "provocative " I am
for just existing,
for society sexualizing me,
for all the women that hated me for my body/looks,and objectified me
and all the men that "loved" me /used me just for my body and sexualized me
with their eyes.
It hurts so deeply to feel so violated all the time
it echoes in my mind,body and soul
all the repeated violations words, looks and all the aching laughter,
the way everyone in my family
sexualized me since I was a child,
so intern I internalized all the hatred to my body and my chest.
I just wander if these people truly understand
how much their actions truly affect others,
how deeply I suffer with complex post trauma all the time
and dysphoria sometimes,
from the deep pain of ****** violence
when I truly look at it all,
its not even wanting to be a man
so much so , as wanting to be seen as a person.
who is worthy of being heard,
not because I am pretty ***** or curvy
or hot or ****
but because I am smart I am strong
I am impressive and resiliant
have a beautiful mind
and I am not just how I look
or how I present.
My whole life I was influenced and taught to believe
that my only value as a women
was my looks,
or to be chosen by a man or by my society,
and to exist as a baby making machine,
while not complaining or being "too much ".
That I shouldn't show my body too much , & that I should always look good 24/7,like I am a doll of some kind, instead of a human being.
How my body was the reason for men sinning
and how I would go to hell for my thoughts or behaviors
if I wasn't perfect.
Now I am realizing none of that truly matters,
and I don't wanna live the rest of my life
chasing validation,
or feeling like I need others approval to feel whole inside,
I wanna accept who I am
love who I am
and like myself for who I am,
and not just for my looks or for my body or sexuality,
but for who I am down to my core
the good and the seemingly bad imperfections
to feel safe in myself and that is beautiful to just be me
without needing to put on a show for anyone.
Jun 21, 2023
Jun 21, 2023 at 3:59 PM UTC
Mannequins in the shop front window,
The new years batch take their seats,
Lined up on display, unknowingly.
Between words you lick your lips - quivering
Under your brow, behind your eyes,
********** each body in the back of your mind.
Little lambs to the slaughter,
So meek and so mild.
Just as your precious Herbert
Speaks of his young bride.
Dec 7, 2021
Dec 7, 2021 at 2:44 PM UTC
Her and higher education:
Those narrow walls
That building
with too many stares
All the talk about climbing
up the flagpole
Just to see
what goes up
And what comes down
It was so much easier
when they just wanted
To carry her books
Jan 6, 2021
Jan 6, 2021 at 6:19 AM UTC
I must be easily mistaken
For a coat on a plastic hanger
Because nothing has been more familiar
Than the way I’ve been used,
Selected finickly from the men’s section
And worn until I’m ruined.
They expect me to fulfill their needs
And take on all their elements
And if I get a little *****
I’m just thrown in the wash
So I can be used again.
Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 11:45 AM UTC
The silver lining
of her otherwise fuchsia
underwear, was in its ability
to sense danger.
The gray area
of her otherwise rosy
lips, was in who they were
allowed to kiss.
The red alert
of her otherwise bronze
thighs, was for what attempted
to get between them.
The white elephant
in her otherwise beige
room, is what happened
to her prized possession.
Jul 1, 2020
Jul 1, 2020 at 7:43 AM UTC
The pizza took her place in bed. It slathered itself all over her.
The pizza objectified my body.
It slid between her ******* leaving traces of red sauce and strands of hot, almost liquid cheese in the nook of her cleavage.
It slowly dripped off of her ******* as she spread its residue across her *****
From there, the succulent, almost watery juices rolled off of her teet and onto her folded legs as she knelt there in the store window.
Everyone could see her.
But as long as those who were most enthralled came inside to purchase a pie or two, no one seemed to care.
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 11:49 PM UTC
I think sometimes my nose is pulled so high into the air that I am a skyscraper
that my ears hear only Birds
that my skin feels only wind
but my ears
that is not what they hear
they hear
“hey baby”
**** girl...”
“What u doin all alone”
my skin-
feels their hands
feels their selfish - dominance
their greed, for my, body
so my nose, goes higher up.
while my heart, sinks further down
I cannot ignore their words,
or rather, I should not ignore their words for my own protection
because that makes me feisty
makes me unattractive
makes me stingy
to withhold myself from their, greedy, hands
so I must respond
or at least acknowledge
be confident
be ignorant
pretend you didn't know it was anything more than a compliment
flash them a smile
continue walking
and Oh...
don't forget to say
thank you.
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 10:59 PM UTC
Objectified Self
Warfare
the only thing you bring to me
You challenge my thoughts
You force my feelings
You invoke my emotions
I have to create contingency plans
Because of you
I have to keep a distance
Because of you
Because of You
I
have to rearrange too much of Me
I cant **** you
I can only war with you
the only thing you bring to me
© Christopher F. Brown 2018
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 3:56 PM UTC
No man has and will ever earn
Orientation to immorality and things that're wrong
May be he sees self as the wisest of all
Earns the most, makes the main calls
And/or he may be a well built handsome hunk
Neither of these nor any other qualities give him a nod, to
Stare at others, break their esteem for the world.
No man has and will ever earn, the right to
Objectify another for the mere sense of fun.
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 7:36 AM UTC
Tell me will you poet?
tell me sweetly in my ear,
tell me of your darkest sin,
and of your hidden fear,
then I will tell it back to you ,
and jot it right down here,
so tell me if you go with it ,
just what you wish to hear?
( I'm listening )
I can tell you that you're perfect,
that you're nice as nice can be,
an I'll tell you that I am your friend,
that you have a friend in me,
( ugh...not so much )
I'll tell you-
you're the handsomest,
as handsome as a star,
the dreamy one from childhood,
who lives somewhere a far,
( I wish... )
I'll tell you that you're wonderful,
that you're honest -
and you're sweet,
an I'll be at your beckon call,
just waiting at your feet,
I will be the sweetest girl,
that you will ever meet,
( Oh boy )
I'll curve the pretty world you view,
an distort it if I must,
tell me will you poet,
are my words the ones you trust?
I can tell a sad goodbye,
or sheets we tangle up in lust,
( ....uh..notta chance, but-)
I can tell of heated passion,
of heated lovers in the night,
while some have heated ***********
some others have a fight,
either way with all that heat,
there's hope they both ignite,
an when you cut your own hand off,
it's only YOU-
you spite,
( OK don't get pissy )
So I can kiss you with my paper,
I can caress you with my pen,
I can leave you feeling anxious love,
or I can leave you feeling zen,
I can be beside you there,
just name it where and when,
( hope not tho )
I can mention that you're genius,
just the smartest guy I know,
except for when it comes to love,
and then it's all for show,
or I can just omit that part,
so no one ever know,
( I'm sure you'd prefer that )
I can tell you any fake thing,
so sweetly in your ear,
it may not be the truth though,
and there in lies the fear,
if I tell you only truth then,
when I'm drawn in really near,
then tell me will you poet,
what should I say my dear?
( oy vey )
Because some objectified objects,
well they have opinions too,
and flattery gets you no where see,
even if these facts I say are true,
it's only in a certain light,
when you tip it all askew,
so that everyone can finally see,
The real "beauty" there in you,
as it all comes out,
now so clearly into view,
And I wonder why would I-
ever waste a single precious breath?!
Ma Cherie © 2017
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 7:35 AM UTC
I feel like a trophy.
Something to be won,
then thrown away once I begin to dull.
I feel like a trophy,
Paraded around when beautiful,
Left alone to rust and dissolve away.
I feel like a trophy,
loved at the start,
then kept only for the memories
I feel like a trophy,
Marveled at in the spotlight,
then slowly forced to share the shelf space.
I feel like a trophy,
naive enough to think
that that my next owner would treasure me.
I feel like a trophy,
non-living, replaceable,
and disposable.
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 7:09 AM UTC
No. I have had enough.
I will not be your doll
Or your little puppet
That you can manipulate
And toy with.
No. I am not an object.
I will not be dehumanized
Or be touched by you —
By your hands that linger
In my darkest corner.
No. I am a person.
I will not be enslaved by you
Or be snatched of my persona —
For I can think for myself;
And I can be myself without you.
Just STOP.
Stop making leisure
out of my fragile heart.
Stop patronizing my body
for your selfish means.
Stop making love your petty excuse
for the lies you’ve tied around my head.
Stop making me feel ***** and useless
after you call me “beautiful”every time you
get your ***** hands all over my body.
Stop objectifying me. I am my own person. I can live without you
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 8:06 AM UTC
Did she offend you?
Baring her shoulders, her collarbones, her knees,
How risqué of her.
Dressed for comfort in the 90 degree weather,
She was asking for it, right?
Did you not break her?
Make her scared to wear what she wants or walk alone.
But she deserved that, didn't she?
Are you sorry for hurting her?
After you used her, she tried to **** herself three times,
All because you couldn't control yourself.
Was her body so distracting that you took away
Her whole life?
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 2:06 PM UTC
They try to label me,
Tell me who I'm supposed to be
But I'm not giving in to that.
On a scale from 1 to 10
They try to tell me how I am
But I'm better then that,
I don't need your numbers because
I am perfect as I am
I don't need you to tell me
Who I'm supposed to be.
Hey, why is it we get objectified?
Told we are not perfect as we are
And that we have to change
In order to belong.
Why is it everyone wants to be on top,
Looking like the "perfect" person they see in magazines?
Nobody seems to realise
We're made to be who we are
Not some fake idea
And unrealistic dream where nobody feels good enough.
We are perfect as we are
We can be whoever we choose to be
There's no reason that
We should change at all.
We are not somebody you can alter
Or try and squeeze into that box
We all belong as who we are!
I don't want to sit around waiting for a knight in shining armour
I want to be my own hero
And not let people change that.
Why cant I be who I'm meant to be
Is that so wrong?
Will it ever be seen as perfect
To be who we are?
They try to stick me in that box,
Label me and make me feel small
But I can't give them that power.
On a scale from 1 to 10
I am perfect as I am
I don't need someone telling me who I'm supposed to be,
Because no matter what anyone says we are all perfect as we are.
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
I feel so inexplicably vulnerable
I'm naked behind the fogged glass
The water running off my skin
Off in drips, in streams
I can see his silhouette on the other side
But can only imagine what he sees
I am so much more than naked, bare
He mutters shush, hissing like the snake he is
Through the water, steam, and fogged glass
I swear I see his lips curve into a distorted, manic grin
On the other side of the breakable barrier
I am just as equally breakable
I'm too afraid to move
Why are locked doors forbidden in this house
His hands lift and his fingers graze the glass
On the barrier he traces crooked lines
That bend and curve like I do
I can feel myself shaking
As lines create clear windows between us
And he stops
I feel faint, nauseous
His eyes are staring
And mine are tearing
When he leaves
I sink to the floor
The water running off my skin
Off in drips, in streams
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 9:41 PM UTC