"confinements" poems
I'm struggling with what it means to be a woman.
Does it mean that I am always in competition to be the top of my species?
Does it mean that I need to be perfect without a single curve out of line in order to find love?
Does it mean that I am only defined when owned by a man?
Does it mean that I can only find purpose in childbirth?
Does it mean that I will forever live in the shadow of men?
Does it mean that I am an object invented solely for a man's pleasure?
Does it mean that I'm forced to confine to gender roles and live in someone else's story?
Does it mean that I'm supposed to accept it when I'm harassed from across the street?
Does it mean that I'm supposed to lie there silent when he puts his hands up my skirt?
Does it mean that I am only worth 77 cents to a man’s dollar?
Does it mean that I am defined by my looks rather than my intelligence?
Does it mean that I will never be capable of holding a major position of power due to my mood swings?
Does it mean that I am defined by how many men I have had *** with?
Or does it mean something else entirely.
It's difficult learning to love being a woman.
Obvious and damaging disadvantages are visible to observers.
We are regarded as second best, property of our man.
We are erased from history, our pain is minimized and forgotten.
We are oppressed and have to fight for our rights.
We are afraid to walk the streets at night, afraid for our lives.
We are harassed without care and without penalty.
We are ***** and murdered for refusing proposals.
We are expected to live on the sidelines as a housewife whose only priority should be her children.
We are expected to keep quiet in situations of domestic abuse.
We are expected to be perfect, and pretty, fresh for a man’s picking.
We can’t even advocate for our own equality without being demonized.
There are times where I wish I wasn’t a woman.
Being a woman comes with innumerable expectations, pressures, and responsibilities.
My existence is not defined by a man, or by the patriarchal expectations that have been placed on me.
I am breaking free of my confinements and I’m not afraid to admit that,
I'm struggling with what it means to be a woman. And that's okay.
//sarahmann
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 3:10 AM UTC
To explain in which extent I love you we would first have to explain how the tears of the clouds can fulfill the thirst of a plant how can the loss of something be the completion of another you empty yourself upon me and I grow from within the confinements of an un nourished soul you tell me your stories and fill up the voids within me with the sadness you've endured nourishing with life the pieces of me that I thought with sadness had already died in turn I recycle your energy and turn it into thriving life that from the ground you helped pick up like a perfect Eco system in which we rain upon each other to help each other flourish to everyone that watches it doesn't make sense but every time a bud grows within me i finally find beauty in a world full of weeds
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 7:00 AM UTC
We open our minds to expand to the times not to pretend there is some end to confine the limits of prime; we defend to remind to dance to the trance we redefine to enhance not to surrender to chance.
We open our hearts to embrace the new space-time transparency, interdimensional race as we become united and one, open to truth we exhibit ourselves as one infinite youth, gifted and new, eternally pure evolved to endure no end to potential, perfect and cured.
We strengthen our bodies and build on each other we love ourselves and love one another we grow and mature and extend to our neighbors but as we think deeper our expansion is greater our planet is one and our galaxy peace to the opening worlds we bring wisdom and ease we do not enslave or deny or deceive but we share our pure knowledge our light and belief.
We raise up our souls beyond science and physics to evolve beyond consciousness confinements and limits our imperial nature shifts to emerge from the boundaries of body and smallness of Earth we expand our perception to include all dimensions from previous eons to future inceptions.
We shift our new world from finite to light, universal, infinite, natural, bright we embrace the day and welcome the night to work with each other to be perfect, upright, to evolve our new planet, our galactic mindframe to expand from micro to cosmically aimed to unlock the portals to open our brains to evolve from old gears to interdimensional spheres uniting creation without hesitation pure as clean water and deep meditation.
-Ryan Christopher Brandes
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 10:00 PM UTC
struggle is the art form of the pitied, imagine
living lavishly, lightheartedly like a ladybug
in the spring just outside the city and
bliss: seldom seen in soldiers,
a privilege of the over privileged,
shining a bright, White light on each
and every one’s inner Judas, a way
to justify their means to demean
the conflict of the ages:
stay not in the sad, safe
confinements of that chrysalis or
smell not of that sweet, sweet,
chrysanthemum whose breath rocks of
morbidity.
breaking boundaries or snapping necks like
twigs on twigs on a White winter’s day, the summer:
long gone, and the fall: Black bruised knees and
scraped thighs, and a White world’s worth of words
left to say.
the New Year and the spring, alive and true,
are carried in by the southern wind and
trying times are all but through.
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
A beautiful contradiction
a necessary part of the machine
left weak and unprotected
except for a fickle flesh barrier
dust diminishes them to nothing
A beautiful contradiction
immobile yet moves all the same
from within their confinements
are plural yet act as one single unit
A beautiful contradiction
useless alone
yet the body would be crippled without.
Kylie D
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 6:12 PM UTC
don't be afraid you're already dead
for he was not lucky enough for the train to take the other track
the pills were not vitamin C
the gun did not shoot water
and it was not, instead of him, me.
we are no longer the kids with capes crinkled in knots around our necks
but in their place are the rope burns of our selfish regrets
only attempting to rid myself of the crushing weight of confused sorrow
the dreams in my head have fallen to the floor
he placed his in patterns there
searching for adjectives inside a dictionary
where only nouns are found
lonely, the adjective being
the one word to describe this
is trapped in the moldy basement of a frat house
he taps at the window
sliding through its confinements
back where he was days ago
a silhouette of the clock
plucking at your hairs
chickens clucking that their scared
they keep changing this cyclorama
but it's always ripped and torn
walking into the abyss
singing his cares away
thinking himself sick
will we feel like this for the rest of our lives?
who owns this beating heart,
it seems to have been misplaced
you'd written horror stories on the sides of elementary schools
superfluous thoughts were rays of sunshine
that only cast shadows in your head
don't be afraid you're still alive
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 7:10 PM UTC
She was taught from a young age that beauty was having pale skin and a bright smile,
But she wasn’t trained to see that beauty itself was somewhere in the writings of a fragile, broken heart.
She was raised in a society where thin bodies were attractive and big bodies were a disgrace
As if it was worse than the crime against Jews, homosexuals, and the colors of race combined.
Belief that beauty was only found in painted faces with blinding teeth was planted in her brain at such a young age that she forgot how she looked in the mirror because she was too afraid to see her own smile.
She forgot to brush her teeth in the mornings because she was too afraid to ask her mommy, “Mommy, am I as pretty as the girl on the magazine?”
She’s too afraid to hear her mother’s reaction, or her siblings’ reaction, hell, even her father’s reaction.
“No, you’re not as pretty as her,”
That’s what they would say,
But she left before they could finish their sentence:
“No, you’re not as pretty as her. Pretty is an understatement. You’re pretty **** amazing, pretty **** talented, and pretty **** gorgeous, but you sure as hell ain’t just pretty. You’re not beautiful like the distorted girls in television screens, and you’re not beautiful like the chicks on those photoshopped magazines. No, you’re beautiful because you don’t ever see it. You’re beautiful because you hide in the flaws we all grew up in. You’re beautiful because you write your heart out on paper, and you’re beautiful because you give a little piece of your heart out to every person you see. No, you’re not as pretty as those prostitutes like to think they are. No, you’re pretty because you have good judgment and know when to give your heart out to strangers. You’re beautiful because you leave an impact in everyone’s lives, whether it’s good or not, intentional or not. You’re beautiful because you say you aren’t and you believe you aren’t, but you’re pretty **** beautiful for telling everyone that they are instead of saving some of the compliments for yourself. So, no, you will never be as pretty as they are because that’s what they will only stay as - pretty.”
Pretty in photoshoots and pretty in covers,
But they will never ever be as pretty as the girl with the heart too big for its confinements,
Heart too tiny for the world to see.
No, the world will never ever be as pretty as her,
But someday the clouds will drift away,
And the rays of sunshine will come out,
And it will shine on her,
And it will show her that beauty and pretty aren’t just the superficial things she was taught from day one.
Beauty is someone who will leave a mark on this soil,
And she will never look back to see it.
Beauty is someone afraid to believe in everything her parents told her to stay away from.
She doesn’t believe in love because love is too powerful,
And love is too kind, and love is beautiful,
But beauty is something her parents told her not to believe in either,
Because beauty’s an illusion and no one sees the obvious even if it’s right in front of them -
It will be blurred by smoke and ***** and the images that come from drugs.
She was taught to hide beauty or it will hurt you because society doesn’t know how to appreciate it.
They don’t know how to love and find beauty in everything around them,
They all just ignore the girl with the tear tracks on her cheeks and a broken smile and a note on her back that says,
“Beautiful”
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 8:41 PM UTC
He looks out
Looks outside of himself
Looks out at the mirage
A world in which he is stuck
Within the confinements of himself
There are words he wants to say
But are trapped between his cage of a mouth
Words must be filtered and scattered and discarded
Through his mind
Like product in a factory
In the end, all that comes out is a
Frustrated cry, a swing of his arm and the confusion and a guilt-ridden apology afterward.
But he sees the outside in a different light
He sees it as a world outside of his own
It's a planet that must be travelled to by space ship
Luckily,
He is an astronaut
And he has people who believe in his rocket's take off.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 7:09 PM UTC
The wind will howl
at our agonizing fall,
The tides will lash at
their confinements;
and suddenly, inevitably
we will be torn apart
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 10:50 AM UTC
The frames
Tunneling us enough to cloak the rays of diversity, of possibilities
The normality shaded a charcoal black, sprayed over us
Stinging the eyes of those who could see the spectrum
Blinding the ones who walked down the colored roads from the coliseum to the Twin Towers
People hung up on the walls, stapled to the confinements of society's critics
As if a snowflake would make them unloved, unseen, unwanted, unworthy of living and chasing happiness
Nobody can be there to comfort you
No one can be there to let the rain ease
Nobody can make you smile
But yourself
And the book's stacked on the sore shelves have taught us the opposite
Through the words strung around your front door
And the shades covering your walls
You can bust that choking frame apart that you might be trapped in
And create one that doesn't shift to make the papers tell society you're normal
That nothing's wrong with you, that you are not a sinner, and that you are not hell bound
Spiraling, collapsing, destroying, breaking, slashing
The ideas of ties over flat chests and the long hair to the ones with the *******
Finding your spectrum may **** off the clouds
And you may be blinded
But the colors come out from beneath your feet
And
Diversity thrives in the wonderland
That not everyone comes to witness
Follow me down into the rabbit's hole
To discover your frame, your life, your portrait
Your spectrum is not society's
Stinging eyes to the ones who see the spectrum
And the scars to the ones who have already painted their own
They have more to tell
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 4:37 AM UTC
Conspiring behind
those confinements
of morality,
justice and sincerity.
A suppressed philosophy,
born from the social elite;
Political correctness at it’s peak.
We seek truth in absolution.
As they round the troops.
In Confucius dreams,
the wisdom is hidden
within the aphorism.
The definition defined.
"Do
not do
to others
what you
do not
want don’t
to
yourself”
From provincial son,
to exile in the sun,
policies,
followed by
astrologies
patterns,
and swallowed by the black holes,
of unexplained notions,
the nature of the soul
and all it’s inhabitants.
Oh sweet Mandarin,
where do we begin?
It’s torture to breath,
and it’s gorgeous to sin.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 5:48 PM UTC
An autoimmune of a nation,
why are you letting your wrath
stemmed from crisis
burst open like lysosomes?
Why do you digest
yourself and one of your own?
Don't you take pride
when the one who has the same
nation weaved on his skin
uplifts the wavering flag of your land?
Why would you mute
and suppress them
rather than water them,
like the beautiful nature that
blooms from your own ground?
Why would you steal
and harm your brothers and sisters,
letting your mentality succumb
to toxic-narrow confinements?
Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 3:02 AM UTC
Hide from the world
Hide from each other
So we don't spread the flu
To one another
Watch out for earthquakes
Can't hide from nature
It will catch you
Hide from the world
It will surly make you blue
I tell you to break confinements
Set yourself free
Take chances
Get your vaccines
God gave us brains
We can use them quite well
We have maintained
In predicaments of hell
Do not let your fears hold you down
Let the accomplishments of
Your life resound
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 9:37 PM UTC
The orbs are comfortable
To lay within the glow
Rounding up and over the moon lit by
Nightly prayers from the children and the whispering ambitions of the aged
Will we ever fit in
Well, fit out of the confinements we dredge to make it all okay when the family cries
Each of us have all been strapped with Velcro from our Day 1 to fit standards
But does it mean anything..
For if we fall short, it hurts more than falling long
Why must we hurt and bleed and scrape against the bottom when we're trying our hardest
Age holds no value
When the interlacing branches of the forest
All look the same
Because we cannot dare differentiate ourselves
What it is to live "normal" and society's "regular"
Maybe we hide ourselves
under scars and lyrics, between role lists and bus seats
Maybe our orbs are colored neon, or maybe a lingering Oregon grey
So maybe, clicks and groups and minorities
And maybe even the "freaks"
Are all synonyms for "normal" and "regular"
So please, these orbs have become comfortable
Don't hang your head and hide one minute more.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 12:58 AM UTC
With outstretched arms
a blank canvas for you to
fill with your color
hues of sentiment
whisper the words only
lovers dare utter between
confinements of silk
tangled diction echoes
reverb of hidden messages
hearts choked
I promise you it won't only
be this time.
eternity
the beauty of
confession
I swear im not going
anywhere.
pour your fears and trust
into the kisses that grace the
barely open lips and skin that keep
us apart.
Your face the sky in someplace
when I sank somewhere
halfway between asleep and awake
my fingers etched between yours
laced with good intentions
not intended to be misconstrued
please don't go
I wasn't finished
Jan 16, 2010
Jan 16, 2010 at 12:46 PM UTC
*She cannot see what I see,
I cannot show her what I see.
I show her the trees and the mountain sides,
She shows me a Lamborghini passing by...
I show her the sun set on the horizon,
She shows me a luxury cruise on the ocean.
I tell her how good it feels to have a coffee on the roadside bench with friends.
She tells me, how great it would be to have a chat over tea with the President!
I show her the openness of the vast sky,
She shows me the confinements of a villa by our side.
Then she says,
"You cannot see what I see".*
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 5:01 AM UTC
The cube of your quirk
swaddles the malleability of each
gap, whistling bones in your mouth
sensing each flicker of the tongue,
where the start of commas halt,
and periods huff their first breath.
When you pause,
the temperature of Chicago's
bittersweet icing shivers once more,
good-bye's of sodden mittens
lacking any human warmth.
Let me tremble again,
an aura a sense of plowed gratitude
that reaches the confinements of
wingless teachings.
If your pupils would embark
to the shameful crumbs of soil,
passageway to mass of mind,
I'd delve deeper to blinded chambers,
the cooing a menacing siren.
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 8:21 PM UTC
Our confinements, our limitations, are set within “character!”
I sway, I bend, I move with the breeze.
“Character!” cannot define me.
Everything I am can vanish-
Everything I am can change.
But what am I always?
I am beautiful.
That is what defines me-
the sheer beauty of whoever I decide to be-
no matter who is looking.
I have no character;
but that is how to characterize me.
Jan 15, 2011
Jan 15, 2011 at 6:21 PM UTC
moving between stations
with newfound aesthetic in every window
strangers take seats and lock themselves
in their headphones
tickets are checked in the mundane gloom
of Mondays
beautiful faces stare into the seats before them
exposing their gaze as hushed uncertainty
silent in the prospect of arrival
when overhead lights flicker
darkness is delayed by illuminating smartphones
providing soft-spoken information
of news headlines and Snapchat stories
hands slightly quiver as Penn Station
takes collective precedence
cups of slightly cold coffee
rise with unflinching confidence
pages of poetic conscience
lower their standards
and admit they've overstayed
their welcome
taking shelter in backpacks
strangers disperse into confinements
of populated territory
their energy birthed in the helpless framework
of time clenching its withered fist
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 2:43 PM UTC
*She was like a candle.
His touch set her ablaze.
Illuminating her present by incineration of her past.
She burnt and burnt till there were ashes at vast.
He tried to hold her, but through his fingers, the ashes slipped.
She was finally free, free from confinements of her sins.
His fire made her pure.
Released her soul from the impure.
The fire was the end of her, and she swallowed it right the abyss of her soul.
The fire was her redemption, which made her whole*.
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 12:17 AM UTC
sometimes we get lazy
wrapped in the confinements of our own
so we send fellow seekers
to kiss the ground above.
and i won't say i despise kids,
because really, i don't.
i just like to misplace their laces,
knotted, rotted laces
and command the ants
to dissolve Hallow's candy
away they pray,
in God's sanctuary
i respect Him,
because really, i do--
just as much as politicians
when they decide to drop out.
you can say i'm causing
lust to pilfer upon a window,
or betting on the next
world war nineteen
but all i did today was
take a swig of bourbon
and drown my pen.
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 6:37 PM UTC
casually breaking your heart
i was walking the line,
inside those guideline confinements you marked out on the pavement in chalk all those years before.
I still see them x ray vision,
when i sneak by nostalgically,
less and less as the years go by.
I didn’t know at the time,
but it seems I was casually breaking your heart.
Gradually time heals real wounds and feelings,
exposure to the pain grows alongside the overgrowth greenery.
Picture the scenery,
and all that you mean to me,
as i’m casually breaking your heart again.
So long to the honey drip,
another quip yet to come.
We emerge ensured bacteria,
surrounded in the Somme.
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 7:19 PM UTC
Here I'm at this point(the present) standing placidly and astoundingly glancing at the zenith with wishes of reaching that peak and pinnacle of success. One step at a time, till you learn how to fly and I've heard a few say "patience is a virtue" and I believe so too,I believe patience is a harvest that's fruitful and can only bring forth happiness. Greatness takes time to acquire and for you to discover it within you requires qualities such as determination,patience and ambition. Those play a vital role for you to embrace that greatness.
As I reciprocate to my thoughts and reminisce about the years gone by,a phenomena occurs..I get a vivid glimpse of the future. Marvelled at my willingness to catapult beyond confinements. I give thanks to my inner peace that sources of this confidence so I could unflinchingly go toe-to-toe with any obstruction that gets on my path.
I live my life aware that with each breath I take I'm blessed therefore I'm appreciative of each day I get to live. I strategically calculate the steps I have to take to land me on the podium. In patience,occurs unnatural omens which signify the skies never receiving your hope. So even if I fail along the way I could never be inclined to give it all up.
P A T I E N C E = G R E A T N E S S
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 12:52 PM UTC
I would tell you my story,
but then you just might believe me,
when I tell you of the cages and bars that I desperately keep myself pressed against,
of the voices that so desperately plague my dream,
attempting to leave laughter,
but fleeing with nothing less than a scream.
I would tell you my story,
but then you just might feel the pain,
of tear stricken cheeks standing alone in the streets,
screaming of hopes and dreams,
left alone in the sea of fallen aspirations and breathes,
swimming so desperately for a speck of land,
offering a hand of anything.
I would tell you my story,
but I love you and I wouldn't want you to worry,
that the mad binds of society would cease my limbs,
and tie me back from the grip of you,
that my mind might break from it's confinements
and come after you.
I would tell you my story,
but would you go mad with me,
or would you be smitten,
tackled to the ground by the essence that reminds,
that nothing is as dark as the tale
that you wish to embark,
would you reach for the positive,
in fear of the helpless bodies chasing behind you,
claiming of love and lust
but...
I would tell you my story,
but the mad man fears of discovery,
the brain wishes not to be unraveled,
and have pain and tribulation traveled,
the soul wishes not of company in misery,
but of embrace ever so gingerly,
to continue the warmth.
I would tell you my story,
but the fairytale is so much better,
dreaming of sunsets and warm sweaters,
dancing in the stars and running with the breeze,
but now,
I'm afraid I've told you my story,
and we've gone and ruined the glory,
of the long told fairytale,
of a pale vail,
and love, oh don't forget of love...
but you wanted to hear the story,
of a mislead heart,
passionately wrought and then torn apart.
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 1:39 PM UTC