"businesswoman" poems
I am an artist
I draw my life.
I am a teacher
I teach my steps.
I am a doctor
I treat my destiny.
I am a lawyer
I judge my actions.
I am a builder
I build my success.
I am a translator
I translate my opinion.
I am a photographer
I take my memories.
I am a writer
I write my future.
I am a chef
I cook my mood.
I am a businesswoman
I manage myself.
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 9:42 AM UTC
I imagine myself
A few gentle decades older.
Finally grasping the cusp
Of success.
Living in my own apartment
In New York City, nonetheless.
Wearing an Armani coat
(Whatever those look like.)
Walking idly yet prestigiously
Through winter in the city.
Taking care not to laugh too loud,
Talk to myself, smile too much.
A small, attractive female
Has to be serious to get ahead.
Customers will buy from a happy girl
Only if she is early 20's, at most.
That is Marketing 101.
I am a small fish in a large sea;
The principles of Darwinism
Still apply to me.
I've learned long ago to succeed,
I must stifle the welcoming smile.
So along the familiar concrete
I stride,
Carefully manicured hands
In pockets.
The Filipinos know better
Than to rush on the hands
Of a businesswoman caressing
A successful career.
She tips well and lives well.
I walk along with cool calm
And feminine grace.
I have regained the safety
To be feminine once again.
The criminals know better
Than to infiltrate
The Business district
And cause trouble
To working professionals
In Armani coats.
I imagine myself a few decades older.
Kissing snowflakes unenthusiastically.
Yes, I marvel in poetry, in Nature,
But I have matured
Much like the snowflakes themselves.
At the end of a cycle,
No matter how beautiful.
My actions flow gracefully and delicately.
I melt into New York City
Like a cell in a body.
Pumping fuel into the *****
To sustain the mass.
A tumor.
I smile subtly as I slosh along.
I recall, once upon a time,
On my lower-class youth.
***** jokes, crude dancing,
And cluttered apartments.
I approach the high-rise building
I call home and greet the doorman
With the obligatory disregard
For his innermost being.
Poetry truly is in the strangest of places.
Even in an enigma like me.
I enter the marble floors,
Wiping my feet,
My rent as sky-high as
The building itself.
Elevator. Comforting motion sickness.
This is success.
The pit of my stomach sinks.
I tell myself it's the motion sickness.
I return to my apartment,
With its symmetrical details.
My thoughts return to you.
You've never stepped foot in my home,
But you've always been here with me.
I get dinner started.
I set out the extra glass, like always.
Rituals like these serve
As my Sunday mass.
I drink your glass with my evening medication.
Dare I say like always?
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 6:09 AM UTC
I see Beauty in a **********
Whose feelings you cannot convolute.
I see a Businesswoman in a **********
A **** with brains, destitute
she made a business plan.
At least she did business studies and
accounting at school, sells her body to earn,
A living.
I see a princess in a **********
because no man can resist her.
You know when she starts curling her hair
Even Pastors **********
then we bring the Saints Holiness into debate.
Have you ever seen a ********** aspirate
"I want you" ?
**** Her voice alone gives ****** healing,
Arouses ****** feelings,
Pumps vessels, frightened by the spark in her
eyes, hormone adrenalin give your heart rate a
fast accelerating beatings.
I see charisma in a **********
Married men,leave their wives in bed and
creep to the streets corner just to cuddle with
prostitutes, it was I who said, there's beauty in
a **********
I see Beauty in a **********
I've seen Loyalty in a **********
Yes I did. How? What do I mean?
Because she ***** all men in the same manner
and charge them all the identical amount.
That is Loyalty man.
I said, I see Beauty in a ********** and
I wasn't lying.
There is Beauty in a **********
The Beauty that makes Preachers at church
retire,
The Beauty that make married men divorce,
The Beauty that makes Jay Z forget Beyonce,
The Beauty that makes Julius Malema forgets
his political position
The Beauty that makes Jesus Christ want to
come back, to save his descendants from sin.
The Beauty of a **********
Men have seen it.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 8:53 PM UTC
A pale homemade dress hung to dry in the blazing sun;
It's original color not quite clear but presumably purple.
That stain that never faded, a spot of innocence...
I closed my eyes and remembered the night she wore it,
Childlike with that smile of hers.
He threw promises of love and eternal bliss;
She believed his words and followed him to the train-yard.
An invisible moon hovered over them as they entered
An old rusted cart, abandoned for years and years.
He didn't bother taking her dress off,
She couldn't wait to feel loved.
Right there beneath a dark sky, a man stole a girl's innocence.
But how can love find it's way through the Cairo Slums?
Where human lay on top of another, like cracked bricks;
They bleed.
A grayish sleeveless undershirt hung to dry in the blazing sun,
It's original color not quite clear but presumably white.
That rip that was never mended, a tear of hope...
I closed my eyes and remembered that morning he wore it,
As he maneuvered through downtown traffic
Trying to make easy money, as ordered by his jobless father.
A child of seven or eight running around with beads of
Sweat rolling down his tiny face.
Mr. Policeman grabbed him by his shirt, slapped him around,
Beat him to the ground for approaching Mrs. Businesswoman in
Her air-conditioned car.
But how can this child find hope for the future in the Cairo Slums?
Where human lay on top of another, like cracked bricks;
They bleed.
Let me take you down to the Cairo Slums,
Where people are animals in their nests
Of carton-paper, waiting for the big bad wolf,
To huff and to puff and to blow their lives away.
But soon you'll realize that evil's not born but raised,
That hate is brewed, and money is everything.
Let us disregard this urban jungle under a glass jar,
Let us use them for advertising or marketing our products,
Products they could never afford.
O' what irony, what strife.
The girl and the child never had a chance,
but they deserve one.
They bleed.
They bleed.
So without further a adieu,
Welcome to the Cairo Slums.
Oct 25, 2011
Oct 25, 2011 at 12:21 PM UTC
Dar Al-Hekma University hosted its second fashion show on Sunday that featured the work of its second batch of fashion design undergraduates.
The event, titled “Luminosity” was held under the auspices of Princess Reem **** Muhammad Al-Faisal. President of the university Dr. Suhair Hassan Al-Qurashi said: “Providing such events to our students before graduation exposes them to industry leaders of their prospective industries and gives them a head start in their careers.
“Dar Al-Hekma University’s students stand out because of the combination of their high caliber and the opportunities the university provides for them.”
Along with industry leaders, families of participating students attended. The event started with an opening speech by the department chair for the fashion design program Dina Kattan, who then introduced the sophomore and junior students’ work.
Afterward, models wearing three-piece collection garments designed by senior students scheduled to graduate this year took the stage and were graded by four judges.
Kattan said: “I am so proud of the work my students presented today; they worked really hard and they deserve a big hand. “Everyone was impressed with the level of creativity and attention to detail they demonstrated.”
The judges were Batool Jamjoom, businesswoman in the fashion industry and manager and owner of Jamjoom Fashion House; Amra Alabdalilsharif, director of the innovation and visual merchandising department at Rubaiyyat; Dalal Al-Hasan, a fashion designer; and Aram Kabbani, Dar Al-Hekma alumna and fashion stylist.
The grades students received during the fashion show will form part of their final grade. One of the students whose designs were featured at the show, Zahar Algain, said her collection was inspired by Mexican artist Frida Kahlo.
“Studying fashion has altered my perspective. I view fashion, in the same way that I view life; it’s a matter of balance and proportions.
“My interest in avant-garde fashion has led me to believe in using creativity to solve difficult situations. Algain’s collection was meant to blur the line between art and fashion.
“It is inspired by Frida Kahlo but with a fictional twist. “The story behind my collection is a daydream, a magical love story, an artwork; it is splattered with Frida’s colorful soul and spirit.”
Following this women only event, Dar Al-Hekma is organizing a one-day fashion design exhibition on Tuesday, which is open to all. The event starts from 7 p.m.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide | www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 11:09 PM UTC
if i focus on numbers the passion it fades. focus on lines and the colors turn gray. how do i balance? i want back my vision! the surge of creative that grants me my wisdom. if i focus on dates, on filling a schedule: i don't smell the flowers or notice their yellow. i don't cry so easy, my shell becomes tougher. i react much quicker, i act like my mother. i think green. i think thin. i clench my fists YOU CAN'T COME IN. i don't want to feel. why do i choose artificial//real?
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 3:31 PM UTC
For a long period of time, we have been told to conform to the different standards set for us by the society. We grew up in a system where having milk colored skin and lean, slender bodies is the only acceptable image of beauty. Several advertisements and individuals will try to tell you what you need to buy or do to improve yourself, and I’m writing this letter to say that you are superb; a creation of purpose.
In a world where violence, fear and hate continue to exist, it is essential for us to unify and persist in eradicating the barriers that have been placed before us. Regardless of our differences - our backgrounds, religions, ethnicity, political views, jobs, academic standing, and flaws or perfections – we all want the same thing in life: respect, love and success. We all want to be seen and esteemed for who we are but we must also know that a women’s success doesn’t equalize with another’s failure. It is important that we work forward in life hand in hand, rather than to step on others just to rise above everyone else. Know that there is a time, place and an opportunity for all of us to accomplish our dreams. Know that you are able to think for yourself – despite of what the world keeps telling you. I believe that women like you and me are capable of creating history every day. I believe in the power of inseparability, that we could push the boundaries and open other people’s minds to a better discourse if we collectively act to make it happen.
As we celebrate International Women’s Month, I encourage you to find the good in the women around you. Let yourself be inspired by their experiences setbacks and victories. By doing this, we not only strengthen our respect for one another, but we open doors for others and ourselves.
This is letter is for all the women who’s looking for their place in this world. Whoever you may be – a student, a businesswoman, a coach, a lawyer, a janitor, a musician, a scientist, a military, a teacher, a traveler, a doctor, an athlete, a poet, or a transwoman – know that you are smart, beautiful, inspirational and strong.
Thank you for being yourself.
Sincerely,
Pat
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 9:26 AM UTC
they keep asking me if I'm 'okay'
and i can't say no because look at this,
a flawless facade drawn
with such vivid accuracy that the
picture is a photograph and I can
see myself in that mirror with my
perfect smile and life all ready
to be burned down to the skeleton in
my own fight for the freedom of man
and how can i deny the fact that I am
utterly miserable with this fleeting grin
and crying laughter that makes people wonder
if someone is dying in the next room over
when the disease is a cold and they have cancer
you know they can hear your sadness and they
are currently flying through their own darkness
to find the strength to strangle you until you cry no more
but it only makes you grow colder
the only proof for 'okay' is the words
that blare out like a speaker on repeat
because this face can't let them hear my cracking porcelain ;
not the little dying girls down the hall.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
i.
caren forgot about her morning. caren forgot it was wednesday. caren had an event and she was not there.
caren is a shadow. caren is an absence of space. caren is a gap that people shy away from, women in black dresses sidestepping past her memory.
caren is a woman with a streetcar. caren is a woman with an office job. caren is a woman with a social network. caren goes to functions. caren is no longer a function, but a product of her own actions.
caren forgot herself.
ii.
shattered windshields. broken glass like triangle teeth. more monsters lurk in mirrors than in the recesses of the closet. behemoths wait by water coolers, demons sit in sweaty three-by-fours. the devil wears a motorcycle helmet and caren hasn't learned from her mistakes.
iii.
run a red light. it's december and she's egging on the new year. frosted features and blinkers hide hot flashes. she's impatient for her age, a businesswoman at her best.
a shift in gear. a change in mood. road rage, road rash. a few words from a dark knight on a whinnying bike.
iv.
lane changes and unintentional nudges. motorcycle launches the devil like a dove to heaven. caren stays earthbound, blood spilled to nourish the ground. fertilizer runs through her veins, and vampire trees in city parks drink it up. bystanders drink it up.
v.
caren is a casualty. caren is the victim of her own habits.
caren is a corpse in a coffin. caren is an elephant in the viewing room.
caren is to blame in eyes and minds. caren is condemned in whispers, but caren is lamented out loud, so caren is proud.
caren got **** done.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC
Dear Queen Jezebel,
Your name has fallen through the thickets of white male history
But I think you are painted unfairly.
For you were a strong female character
In a time when they were frowned upon.
No man would tell you what to do
You held power in your strong wrists
In your condescending smile
In your waterfall hips.
You were brutal
But you you showed the world that you would not be messed with
You were not merely valuable for your ***
For your ability to pop out children.
You were revolutionary
You installed fear in the men who did everything they could
To cut you to pieces.
Maybe we are not too different
As my ex-boyfriend repeatedly told me to shut my feminist mouth
And have *** with him.
History repeatedly ****** you
Paints you as a *** symbol
Rather than a strategic businesswoman and monarch.
You knew what you were doing
And I follow your lead
They will never love us
We, Jezebel, are for them to make pets out of
We are here to show them
How the mighty
Have fallen.
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 3:02 PM UTC
I'm not sure I believe in God.
At a time I did.
Former Catholic school girl in a crisis of faith. How much more cliche could I get?
I want to believe. Life and death would be much cleaner if I did.
But where is my God now? How is it that He can be so far away?
He asks for so much faith and trust... but I don't see a single sign of Him. I didn't find Him when I cried out for help. I didn't see Him in my Aunt's dying face. And I haven't seen Him since.
Where is He now? Floating high up on a cloud, in heaven, in glory, in a happier place than we can imagine.
Well I'm here on the ground, in a specific kind of hell that I have found. And I've asked Him for guidance, to show me His way. But all I get is an empty dial-tone, the rattle of a hollow subway. All on my own I go. With no answer. No help. No ethereal "sign". Where is He when I need Him?
Gone. Like every other man I've known.
Click click click I hear the echo of a vacant businesswoman with no soul. And I think.... maybe that's the way to go. Ice cold. Freeze everyone out.
Accept that life goes until it stops. My heart's beating until it's not. And that's the end of my road.
Maybe there are no angels, no gates of gold, no warm and sunny afterlife paradise.
But there's no way to know for sure. I toe the line, stay on the fence, until God decides to answer, call me, or send me a text.
Waiting for a breakthrough. Begging to be found.
Hey God, can you hear me now?
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 3:04 AM UTC
I am not overwhelmed; I am not underwhelmed.
I just lack motivation.
I am not lazy, nor apathetic,
I simply lack motivation.
I want to run a mile but I have the willpower of a corpse,
Wanting to just fall apart and decay so I can fertilize the flowers
So maybe then I’ll be useful.
Wanna go for a run?
Take a pill.
Wanna be normal?
Take a pill.
Wanna forget your depression for a while?
Take a pill.
Take a pill.
Take a pill.
I want to go to parties,
Make friends,
Write words that flow seamlessly across the page
With clear intent of my feelings at 3 am,
When I am supposed to be at my most creative.
Instead, I stay at home on Netflix and the only thing flowing
Is one episode to the next.
Wanna go out without anxiety?
Take a pill.
Wanna not act all spazzy in front of everyone you speak to?
Take a pill.
Wanna forget your anxiety for a while?
Take a pill.
Take a pill.
Take a ******* pill.
But you want to be a productive member of society?
You can’t just take a pill.
Pills help you get up and make you go on with your life.
They don’t give you motivation.
Nothing can give you motivation.
Hope usually does, but I’m all out of that.
I know if I wasn’t, I could do or be whatever I wanted.
I could be a successful businesswoman,
I could be known for other things,
Like my ability to stand on a stage and perform.
I could even be a writer and properly end this poem.
But I simply lack the motivation.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 10:40 PM UTC
I'm going to tell you a story.
It's my favorite, full of magic and pretty things and color.
Once upon a time, there was a girl. She was a very sad girl, and she never seemed to fit in very well with other kids.
or other people.
or other anything, really.
Her friends never loved her very much, and her parents didn't either.
They didn't much like that she liked other girls,
Or that she gave them nothing to brag about.
Her parents wanted a businesswoman, who would meet a nice man and settle down.
This girl was far from businesswoman material.
So she grew distant.
And drifted further, and further, and further into the dark.
Her candle blew out, and she was alone.
And she was tired.
So, very tired.
And so she wrote down a goodbye on a slip of paper,
And she walked towards the edge of town.
The edge of town, towards the cliffs that overlooked the sea.
She wanted to sleep.
As she was walking, she saw a girl.
This girl was the prettiest she had ever seen.
The pretty girl looked as sad as she did, and so she crumpled up the goodbye she had written and vowed to never let the pretty girl know the emptiness that she had.
So she brought the pretty girl back to life, spoon feeding her soft words and flowers.
Flowers, like calla lilies, for magnificent beauty.
Or Lilac, for the first emotions of love.
But she almost lost the pretty girl.
and then she realized how much she loved her.
and she held the pretty girl in her arms and made her swear to let her help her, and she accepted and then
our girl saw color again.
the pretty girl had brought the feeling and the love and the color and the hope and the light back into our girl's life,
and the pretty girl smiled.
and our girl decided that her work was done.
One last kiss goodbye,
And she would fall out of the world with the stars in her eyes and snowflakes on her lips,
and so she fell asleep after all.
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 8:35 PM UTC
“I will support your brand”
That’s what my baby said as she held my hands
I know she’s an introvert
But acts like an extrovert
We getting this money selling books, & promoting T-shirts
My baby is a businesswoman, making people invest
My #1 supporter, what more can I expect?
Income > outcome, look at our progress
We in control, now watch our success
Oct 18, 2020
Oct 18, 2020 at 9:41 PM UTC
fine fine, have it, have your niqab,
but for god's sake:
can it at least be white during the summer
months in europe?
and i have about half a bottle
of whiskey left from two nights ago:
question is...
do i have ginger ale?
i have to celebrate, my ******** concept
of stick 4 x 5 = 20
sheets of white paper onto my window,
strapping a fan with a bag
of ice cubes...
to ease this:
godforsaken heat!
running into the garden in
nothing but my underwear
and finding the most grassy,
soft and moist pouch of earth at
6:30 in the morning worked out for
about a day...
**** me muhammad! ali!
and ibn ezra or whatever ahmed
was doing last tuesday!
she can wear the face veil!
i agree! i like she can have more fantasies
in public than a woman wearing
a mini and a bra on a beach...
i agree!
but please! please!
the physics! the physics!
schwarz is an absorber of light
(subsequently heat) -
weiß as a reflector of light
(subsequently heat)...
SHE CAN WEAR HER INVERTED
VOYEURISM FETISH...
SHE CAN HAVE HER SIMULATION
OF INCOGNITO SO CHAMPIONED
WITH INTERNET USAGE IN
THE COMMENT SECTIONS...
SHE CAN HAVE IT!
BUT SHE AT LEAST HAVE A WHITE
VERSION OF HER ATTIRE IN THE SUMMER
MONTHS?!
HIJAB NIQAB... WHATEVER:
JUST ALL IN WHITE...
I'M SWEATING LIKE A WILD
PIG AND I'M THINKING:
YOU ARE GOING OUT IN THAT...
SERIOUSLY? IN THAT?
I DON'T MIND THAT: BUT IN THAT?
you won, you can have your
shop with a diamond analogy that made
no sense about selling diamonds
but keeping the biggest emerald known
to man hidden...
like... some...
heard it from a pakistani at school -
you have a shop selling diamonds...
but you hide your most precious diamond
like some ******* fritzl...
i get it, khadira had a voyeurism
fetish, she liked watching muhammad
**** off before she rushed in
and rode the arabian steed to the logical
conclusion that any businesswoman might...
but can we do away with this ********
that white is taboo in islam?
notably within the confines of women's attire?
it's T'AH AH ******* BOO!
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 6:41 AM UTC
Remember
Once I asked my younger cousin what she wanted to be, would it be a doctor, or a lawyer or a veterinarian?
Instead, she said skinnier
She was 5 years old.
Her dream was not to be a pilot or a firefighter or a businesswoman, it was to lose weight
I was shocked but sadly not surprised
We don't think when we shame each other and ourselves
Every time you complain about your fat, Remember
Every time you say you hate something about your body Remember
Remember
Little siblings, friends, and children
They soak it in
They remember and they start to hate themselves
97 percent of women don't like themselves and are cruel to themselves
We live in a world where that not shocking
But it should be
There was a study that I read
That 40 percent of 7 to 10 year-olds do not like their body
That’s way too many
These young girls should be focused on fun and games and school
Not their weight or what they look like
So think before you say anything
Because I will remember what my cousin said
How she sometimes looks when she occasionally glances in a mirror
Remember this in a world where everywhere you look there could be a billboard saying "lose weight now" or magazines entirely focused on what to do to change yourself
Sometimes I think back to myself, my teenage self
An insecure girl in a world of hate
How all she wanted to do was cry sometimes but was too scared that putting her face in her hands would cause acne because of some whispers from a classmate
How she heard her older cousin complain about her thighs
And she realized how big hers were
And that's all she thought about when she went to sleep each night
How she would hurt herself because she thought she wasn't good enough
Thought she would never be good enough to be accepted
Never good enough to be liked, taught she could never deserve love
So remember this
Remember
In a world where the size of someone's heart is determined by the gap between their thighs
Where kids remember what you say and may take all the hate out on themselves one day
Remember
Be kind to yourself and others
Love all, but most importantly love yourself and know that you are worthy of love
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 10:53 PM UTC
you were there for me once upon a time,
in sleepless nights and ungodly hours,
and forgotten wishes made on shooting stars.
you were there for me once upon a time,
in empty rinks at midnight,
and fractured memories of a better time.
your sparkling eyes wink back at me whenever i fall,
a starburst of flashing streetlights and glittering stars,
filled with infinite opportunities and unfulfilled dreams,
with stores to explore and people to meet,
and it always felt as if you were healing my broken heart with your blinding colors.
your voice is an orchestra,
made of a toddler’s excited squeals and a young man’s silent tears,
made of a mother’s soft lullabies and a businesswoman’s clicking heels,
made of honking cars and laughing schoolchildren.
it cannot be silenced,
no matter how hard they may try to force your mouth shut.
you are the long walks at night,
the glances out the window of a glass rink,
the prayers from my balcony.
in the end, i want to thank you,
for growing up with me and teaching me everything i know,
and for being a part of me i’ll never forget.
Oct 7, 2020
Oct 7, 2020 at 8:32 PM UTC