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Oshit Kul Ratan Oct 2018
I married a **** survivor
She was terrified and broken
Shaken till the last drop of blood
She can’t even face the mirror now
Now she hates herself for being a girl
Just few seconds had stolen her identity
Her respect, Her pride, Her value, Her existence
Corner of a room was now her place
Tears dried heart soaked smile disappeared
Yes i married a **** survivor!

Believing i could give back her effeminacy
I hold her hands when no one wanted her
Society expelled her,Why? Because she lost virginity
Because she lost her dignity
Because someone forced her played her
Because someone snatched her feminess
I don’t care, i love her and i promise to take care of her
I will bring back her pride her attitude her smile
Hoping i could take her to my world of peace
Yes i married a **** survivor!

I can’t touch her i can’t make her feel comfortable
Suddenly at night she wakes up and cry
That night still haunts her
My beautiful bud was plucked
Crushed and trampled her soul was tampered
I gave her home my family my love
Yet she resists inside of her, still her voice trembles
Still the cruel eyes of world poaches her
Still the comments of anyone shatters her
She tried a lot to move on but that cruel laugh torments her
But now she had her peace for she had hanged herself.
These are the words of a person who married a **** survivor woman and he is describing her fear and pain.
A Alexander Oct 2015
What are we but a sweet daydream?
So full of creativity, and
Our hearts out in the open left to vulnerability.

What are we but the endless ideas of love and romance?
We should be compelled to love ourselves foremost,
we must give this a chance.

-We need sophrosyne-

What are we that we truly don't appreciate the beauty
in being a woman?

-We need effeminacy-

©A. Harris 2015
Johnny Noiπ Nov 2018
Becky knew Eli ha taken another wife
leaving her alone on the sprawling
farm, Eli Jr. doing most of the chores,
selling **** at the crossroads &
trying to **** his sister, Becky Junior,
who was too young & clueless for him
to get very far & she loathed the aroma
of ****. Eli's youngest Joshua already
evincing signs of effeminacy, Becky
attributing it to Eli's long absences; she'd
conjured in her head her wayward spouse
drinking & reveling with naked women,
rock star groupies and movie strumpets;
having flown over to see for herself, she
knew she was right.   Hearing Eli had
married again brought an inexplicable
sense of relief, & taking up her needle
work, Becky sat in the porch rocker
waiting for her two oldest to show up
for supper. Becky Junior stuck doing
Eli's chores while he ***** little Emma
from the next farm over; I'll not be
gettin' ina heaven, Eli Simple! the girl
scolded. Eli Jr, grinned, 'English Heaven,'
he said, 'That's where my father is.'
the girl's face paled & her pink mouth
swung open, "That rightly be hell!
I seen the little lit-up boxes they all
be talking to now. Some's got wires
comin' right out they head, like men
from Mars..." Emma was talking while
Junior rolled a blunt with a corn husk.
Men from Mars & little boxes - u've
got some imagination, missy, he said,
blowing the smoke at her; coming
beside him, they lit up the barn with
the pungent odor of Jr.'s Homegrown.
It's them English, She railed, Turnin'
theyselves into robots! Shut up, he said
at last, My dad throws paint on canvas
& he's good at it too, so I don't need...
feeling the vibration in his pocket, he
knew he to take the call. Here, smoke.
I've gotta go take a ***. He went out &
Emma lay back smoking contentedly,
giving herself the chills with thoughts
of evil English robots all connected by
wires. Figuring she'd keep, Junior went
down to the crossroad & didn't get back
until after sundown. Emma was gone,
but left a note scrawled on notebook
paper: 'I went home to supper emma'.
Feeling peckish himself, he picked up
the fat roach she'd left & lit it with a
kitchen match, smoking as he walked.
Satsih Verma Jan 2019
Do I ask a question,
sometimes red-
sometimes blue?

My pain of centuries
was not interpretive. There
were no tears left
in the eyes.

Something gets in my
poem. I go white, as
the blank page of a book.

Like a big fish
claiming its territory
on small limbless cold animal.

The pure adoration
makes you numb. How can
you handle a falling moon?

The lavender was
melting into effeminacy.

— The End —