"assaulter" poems
I chose feminism because I believe in equality between genders.
because I’m against gender roles, men who need a woman to get their **** done are not “cute” and are nothing but spoiled little brats.
because my virginity, my body hair and how I dress up are none of your business.
I chose feminism because I’m not a *** machine nor a baby producer I value much much more than that.
because I don’t need a man to validate my self worth, I already know what I’m worth.
because in some countries ***** women are forced to spend the rest of their life under the same roof as their assaulter.
I chose feminism because a woman who speak up and raise her voice is a ***** .
because in my city a woman was beaten by her husband the night of their wedding because she didn’t “bleed” in the ***********
I chose to speak up because an 8 year old Yemeni girl died of internal injuries at the hands of 40 year old husband on their wedding night.
because ****** is not a ***** word and my periods are not disgusting.
because more women need to speak up and speak for their rights
I chose feminism and everyone should do the same .
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
If you ask me if I am fluent in Spanish
I will tell you my Spanish is a mix of english
and spanish rubbing against each other
in my mouth like spitting fire
My spanish is my whole life from my youth
to my death
My Spanish is on my resume as a skill
And not something that can sit still
You see There is no telling my spanish
to be quiet
My spanish don’t know “quiet”
My spanish is spicy sounds that some people
Have a hard time to understand
My spanish sits in the corner of a classroom
Chews on a pencils, does not raise its hand
My spanish is chaotic, broken, and slightly misspoken
something that I have to choose
to remember correctly
My spanish is true story
My spanish is my grandparents
Giving me presents
that they brought back from Mexico
At least I hope they would have
My spanish is a broken clock radio that never
gets fixed but still works
And yes there are perks
My spanish is people asking me if my parents
are american if I am white
My spanish is having to prove that
I am mexican, because saying it was never enough
My spanish is my abuelita leaving a country
that she loves to give her family an entry to opportunities
And english sat in her mouth
remixed so strawberry became “ e streberry ”
And Kitchen, keychain and chicken all sound the same.
My spanish is my accent that
reminds me where i come from
And That we are still
bomba, plena, salsa, and guepa
Something that is too
stubborn for your whitewash
Not something that you can erase
Rather something that I embrace
My spanish is my dad working his whole life
so i can live in security
And not have to worry about disparity
My spanish is the first question that my
grandmother asked about me
“what color is she”
My spanish is my sister,
A blond blue eyed beauty
That always took priority
My spanish is people thinking that
My dad was my gardener
My spanish is people being petrified
when I spoke to my father
My spanish knowns that there are letters
that will always be silent
There are words that will always escape me
My spanish is my whole body
A sound that rumbles in my
chest and rolls off my tongue
My spanish is something that is shut off
when I am surrounded by white walls
But my spanish does not believe in
boundaries or borders
My spanish believes in building bridges
and not taking orders
From an orange man with tiny hands
that is an assaulter
My spanish, my spanish is a sword
that allows my words
To fly like the birds and be freed
My Spanish is my drive to succeed
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 2:12 PM UTC
Hardly aware of awareness,
he wondered through the City.
Why didn't she answer -he thought.
A taxi splashed water on him,
which only made him more angry.
He rushed into the nearest deli,
Do you have a towel? I'm soaked! he asked.
**No, but I have sweatpants
and shirts for sale. I'll lend you some.** the owner responded.
Shocked by the man's generosity,
he insisted he buy them.
Where's my wallet?
I must have left my wallet at home. Nevermind.
Before the owner could hand him the clothes,
he was out the door in a flash.
Walking back to his apartment was the only thing left to do,
so he walked, and thought about all the troubles...
*She doesn't love me anymore, I'm broke,
I'm unlucky, I can't keep a job, my family is ashamed,
I have no skills, nor talents, I'm a waste of life...*
But he was interrupted by a quarrel between two men.
**You piece of **** *** You stole my wallet.** said one.
I did not, you can search me. responded the other.
The first man threw a punch and knocked the other down.
I have to do something!
He ran to the two men and grabbed the assaulter
holding him against the wall, and yelled,
**ENOUGH! This man has nothing and you
can't find your wallet, so you assume he has it!?
You probably left it at home, call your wife, kids,
or whomever and see if its there!** he roared.
Whatever.. was his blunt response,
and the assaulter walked away...
The other man lay on the ground bleeding and coughing,
so he bent down and consoled him,
You okay man? he asked.
**Why did you help me? I'm a waste of life,
and you helped me. You're the only person
in this city who ever gave me a chance:
You. Are. A. Hero.** lamented the injured man.
He couldn't respond though. He just shed a tear
for in that moment all his problems went away.
It didn't matter that he was soaking wet,
or that he left his wallet at home,
or that his wife didn't answer,
or that he lost his job.
Nothing mattered,
except that he mattered.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 8:46 PM UTC
Beyond tragedy, there is a hidden strength that comes to the fore.
Strength to do what must be done, welling up from deep with in our core.
Fortifying us, pulling us up on our feet, when our steps falter.
Helping us to guide others, who are victims of the Assaulter.
Allows us hope, when there is none to be found, and sadness invades.
Showing us, with new eyes, that which will be our future and bright days.
It is that same strength, that lets us say our good byes to loved ones,
continuing on, keeping pride in them and our Nations Sons.
With it we embrace the blow that has been dealt us, making us stronger.
Defeat is never spoken. We live with the changes and fear no longer.
It is our strength, that binds this Nation as one, above the cries.
For America may bleed, but we shall not ever lie down and die.
Jul 28, 2010
Jul 28, 2010 at 1:33 PM UTC
Broken Mirror
in my mind.
Always to remind.
Trapped
in the dark,
with nothing
but the sound
of the clinking of the shards.
Your animalistic ways,
running fast until
you've caught
your prey.
But I fought,
and still do everyday.
I never asked for this
and I never asked for you,
Just because you're a man
and I'm a woman,
don't be so quick
to assume.
I've kept you
locked in my mind
trying to forget that day,
what gives you the right
to feel it's alright
to suddenly message me
and say "HEY"
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 6:37 PM UTC
it came down
it landed hard
on the one that controls
the one that speaks let out a bloodcurdling shriek
unwholesomely accompanied by small giggles
the assaulter came down once again
the one that speaks became weaker, letting out a muffled cry
the crowd drained the voice
as the voice got weaker, the crowd got louder with laughter
the fur was not enough to brace the one that thinks
it came down again
the innocence crumpled to the floor
the shrieks and pleas for life pried from its body
were the last sounds it made
fresh meat.
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 1:36 AM UTC
There are two places where I feel safe,
here, this very site,
and that room.
It's weird to say I feel safe in a room
such as that,
it's a classroom.
But it's the one of my hero,
so I guess it makes sense.
Right?
I don't know.
All I know is that when I'm in there,
like when I'm on here,
I want to spill everything.
I want to tell her of the
**** that wasn't ****
but I know I shouldn't
because who wants to hear that?
And will I even have the guts
to use my vocal chords to say it?
Can I say it aloud?
I never even told her the real reason Kung Fu came to an end,
that ****** assault has been a common occurrence the past few years.
I can even see the awkwardness now.
She'd ask how it was but was not,
and I'd have to tell her how I let my innocence go, to an extent.
I said no ***
but it went in,
his underwear being my savior.
I'll tell her how I'm leaving to the next tower,
because my roommate kicked me out,
even though she was the one who caused the problems.
I'll tell her that, no problem.
I'll tell her how my neighbors
are strangers who think they know me.
I'll tell her my excitement to leave all this.
I'll tell her that, no problem.
But how do I tell her of my assaulter?
I need to outwardly tell somebody,
and I need one of her hugs.
Maybe it'll slip out.
I want to tell her, though.
I want to tell a lot of people.
But do they want to hear it?
That's my question.
There are two places where I feel safe:
here,
and that classroom.
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 2:34 PM UTC
It always moves,
Whether we like it to,
Or not.
We can’t control it,
And our influence,
Pales to its might.
Through all our wars,
Where we fought,
And people died.
What never changed,
The somber dance,
Of time.
We take its hand,
And hope we can keep up,
As we falter,
Broken-hearted.
It grinds us into a fragile shell,
Filled with heartache,
Like a snowflake,
An assaulter.
Some are accepting,
Other terrified,
Such as myself,
They try amending,
Their mistakes,
That they made,
In the past.
Can’t change it now.
We keep on moving,
No other choice,
Just keep on keeping on,
Hoping that the madness makes sense,
As we grow,
Because we know,
Time only moves forward,
As it always has.
Mar 2, 2025
Mar 2, 2025 at 9:44 PM UTC