"herstory" poems
Waiting for the sea she sits
writing with her fingertips
setting down herstory on the sand;
waiting, with a wistful eye
watching for the rising tide
wondering if stories can be drowned..
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 5:12 PM UTC
In her,
nature
a seed
planted by her mother
one
she wouldn’t feel
until the first
of womanhood
inside of her chest
in bloom
a well of gratefulness
a rooted inner compass
a quiet
but awakened
awareness
a feeling
to trust
but no substitute for love
but enough
enough to show her
it was possible
how sweltering heat
could be rainfall
how seasons
and time
could be here
and gone
the world
was waiting
the sun
held all aglow
accountable
to living
expected not to shy away
when she herself
was giving
"Omit outwards",
she said
"Radiate like me
attend to your senses
let wind be a tide
to rush against your skin
to rub the nape of the neck
to cool the temper of your breath
let my darling,
grass
be a place to rest
climb up
on the shoulders of trees
or just
sit beside her
and feel herstory
firm
beneath your feet
foundation
for every path
for every choice
you chose to walk
and listen
to the silence
as night begins to fall
go to sleep feeling
the day was but a dream
everything sings in you now
your heart is wild
and beating
and all the world
is a mirror
of that inner feeling
where she finds
in her,
nature
is breathing.
-
July 24th, 2013
(a poem inspired by the title of a writers group I am in. )
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
I remember I was scared to death
the first time I had a girl alone with me
I remember thinking
do I just pull it out and present it
Or do I wait for her to ask to see it
or do I just sit here and talk untill she says "are we gonna do this"
Or do I go "are we gonna do this"
instead we watched like 2 hours of random tv, talked, I showed my Tattoos
she Showed me ones that she will be getting someday on her body.
And then it Happened the sign
The flip of the hair
The little Flutter of the eyes
I knew I had to make my move
So I said "I've been looking at you since I first saw you and wondered what'd be like to kiss you"
she says "well are you gonna keep wondering or do it"
We begin to make out in the back of my head im praying she doesnt start using tounge
because im horrible at french kissing. Luckily it didn't happen
As I begin to rub her back I unsnap her braw with one hand
which I never did before that.
The shirt came off smoothly and I looked at a set of amazing little perky *******
I tasted her flesh surrounding this tender area
and took my shirt off
revealing my skrany tatted up body.
She began to push down on me and soon as was on my back and she was Hovered over me.
I remember thinking to myself THIS IS AWESOME.
just as she thought she was in controll I flipped her over brushed my hands down her hips.
AND IT HAPPENED the moment you know your getting laid (my brother told me this before)
The slight arch of her back just enough for me to remove her pants in a swift motion.
The rest is history
or should I say Herstory.
I remember the next day going to school
and later on seeing her at parties
and eventually I never seen her again
somehow or another she just vanished
to this day I dont Know where she is
but **** can I remember everything about that night
her outfit down to her ear rings
what song I had playing (Tupac How do You Want It)
the nervous tick I do with my thumb nails clicking them haha.
she asked me if This was my first time ( I replied yes)
She told me that I was her first also (not like first)
but first time actaully being made love too.
she said I knew exactly what to do
and that she never had a man actaully take his time with her.
I brushed her hair back
and whispered in her ear ( in all the seas and all the lakes I found mermaid by mistake)
my little way of saying she was speacil.
I've never found another mermaid is what im getting at
and honestly after all the girls past present a future
I'll never have another night like that
so if your out there Aubrey
this writings for you
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC
Every birth mark
Every mole
Every scar that imprints my skin.
Every stretch mark and wrinkle
Every bold vein and pimple.
They tell the stories
of my being
and
I have earned
each and every
one of them.
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 7:06 PM UTC
I'm one of a kind.
Stuck in my own mine.
The only place I can find, a calm find,
Is the confines, of my own mind.
And it's fine, at least I've
told myself a thousand times.
Now I'm sick of messing around,
Started laying these rhythms.
In perfect line, one at a time
to inspire these inquiring minds.
So they will find;
History, or Herstory, repeating itself
Line after line; over time.
through these thoughts of mine.
All this sadness, at the expense of happiness;
straight up madness.
Killing yourself with this mad stress,
while chasing success, in all ways.
"Always ends up a mess," experiences says.
Taking baby steps towards more unhappiness.
Worry free days, migrates to migraines, with growing pains.
What's perceived as success, should be worth way much less.
Cost of yourself, at the expense of progress, that does not exist. Got you living a dream, while you losing the rest.
Blood thicker than water, but not baguettes or the flesh.
They will, **** you for the dough, then fight amongst themselves over the wealth. Their net worth, worth more than how they value them self. So you "so soon, they forget." And to, get what they want, or perceive as need, they'll use you to get. So be careful, in the pursuit of happiness, don't lose sight of yourself. Or it will be your final regret.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC
If I had known what it would cost
I wouldn’t have tried to cut myself up so much
Wouldn’t have molded myself into the American dream
Looked down at my grandmother’s footprint instead
Formed and deformed
A part of me
I should have held on tighter
To her Dream
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 10:03 AM UTC
My eyes hurt from crying
My tears hurt from never drying
My tongue hurts from “I have a dream”-ing
My throat hurts from screaming
My lungs hurt from covid-19-ing
And My pupils hurt from witnessing
My DNA hurts from history
My pelvis hurt from herstory
My head hurts from debating
My cells hurt from videotaping
My joints hurt from protesting
My heart hurts from trusting
And My peace hurts from excusing
My hope hurts from believing
My flowers hurt from bereaving
My coffins hurt from mourning
My Elders hurt from recalling
My vigilance hurts from faltering
My prayers hurt from beseeching
My despair hurts from creeping
And My justice hurts from awaiting
But my God-Given Melanin keeps on Shining
So, my Spirit keeps on fighting
Dec 16, 2020
Dec 16, 2020 at 1:02 AM UTC
Late night at the Bar,
The neon sign said time to go,
Funny, when I got there it was all
Welcoming and overenthusiastic,
Garish, like a parade of clowns
With balloons that just got lost
Loosed, to the winds. I had a few—
Too many and wrote a broke poem,
All alone surrounded by the clank
Of wood from a pole and clicks of levers
As the glistening 'patrons' shimmied their
Tithes to the used machines of *****
Pinned and the green tables pooled
And the women, who desperately looked
At only you, after you looked at them
And the indifferent, tallish Barman,
Who kept pouring smallish dreams
In a shot glass. I stumbled, swirled out
And kissed the tar as was my want,
Every newcomer slogging in
Simply ran with not even noticing,
As I laid on the ground, they knew
That their time was soon coming.
That's called simpatico, or is it
Solidarity, maybe, whatever?
Anywho, I dusted my self off
And hightailed it back home
Before the broad, my old lady,
Jezebel, caught me on the sly.
The 'Queen of Sheba' was already
There— prostrated on our bed
Waiting to nail me. My only excuse,
The muses— she wasn't buying,
I said baby, 'I ain't tryin' to sell
You no lie. The words, they come
And they go, like a train that never stops
But you bestbe going, you best be jump in'
On that steel Goliath and ride that son to the gates
Of pearl and peace, them goldilock rays and then I said,
Hush, my little 'rock-a-bye' lady, you shush now,
My fresh night moon of lilly flower, we's gonna
Make like nubile creatures, all naked and free,
There ain't no clocks little darling, there's
Just you an' me and all the rest of herstory,'
She bought that line!
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
Late night at the Bar,
The neon sign said time to go,
Funny, when I got there it was all
Welcoming and overenthusiastic,
Garish, like a parade of clowns
With balloons that just got lost
Loosed, to the winds. I had a few—
Too many and wrote a broke poem,
All alone surrounded by the clank
Of wood from a pole and clicks of levers
As the glistening 'patrons' shimmied their
Tithes to the used machines of *****
Pinned and the green tables pooled
And the women, who desperately looked
At only you, after you looked at them
And the indifferent, tallish Barman,
Who kept pouring smallish dreams
In a shot glass. I stumbled, swirled out
And kissed the tar as was my want,
Every newcomer slogging in
Simply ran with not even noticing,
As I laid on the ground, they knew
That their time was soon coming.
That's called simpatico, or is it
Solidarity, maybe, whatever?
Anywho, I dusted my self off
And hightailed it back home
Before the broad, my old lady,
Jezebel, caught me on the sly.
The 'Queen of Sheba' was already
There— prostrated on our bed
Waiting to nail me. My only excuse,
The muses— she wasn't buying,
I said baby, 'I ain't tryin' to sell
You no lie. The words, they come
And they go, like a train that never stops
But you best be going, you best be jump in'
On that steel Goliath and ride that son to the gates
Of pearl and peace, them goldilock rays and then I said,
Hush, my little 'rock-a-bye' lady, you shush now,
My fresh night moon of Lilly flower, we's gonna
Make like nubile creatures, all naked and free,
There ain't no clocks little darling, there's
Just you an' me and all the rest of herstory,'
She bought that line!
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
It's been 5 days since I've written anything
And the scraggles of hair that line my jaw
Show that it's been 5 days since I've done anything
Rhyme anything with anything
And hope to bring some silence
To the demons in my mind
And the silence surrounding
Never have I thought of this
As being the life that I would live
But now that it is what it is
I'll always remember the kids
And watching your avoiding eyes
As I say "Hi"
You say "Goodbye"
And that's the end of history
That's the end of herstory
And now I'm wondering
Where the hell I'm left at
And what the hell I'm left with
On the corner of confused and confidence
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 11:47 PM UTC
That good night kiss
I really do miss
Made it easy for me to sleep
Now a days I'm a creep
Waking up next to her made my morning
Now I sleep on life is boring
I might not know love
But have many love stories
They are the past but in my heart historic stories with rich history
Going home **** because she's not there
The reason I looked forward to going home
Not seeing you name or hearing your voice on the phone
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 4:43 AM UTC
“Our apparatchiks will continue making
the usual squalid mess called History:
all we can pray for is that artists,
chefs and saints may still appear to blithe it.“
W.H. Auden, “ Moon Landing”
<>
Let us happily and heedlessly
i.e blithely
send the pundits, panderers, and pussycats
and and the ill tempered ones,
the “like~seekers”
whose factual are not actuals
But
opinions gussied up
as itter-bitter-litter factoids on opioids,
of little value
*yeah
they’re history*
seek not likes or to be liked,
make your own history or herstory.,
and you will be admired
'tis a far far better thing…
Jul 31, 2025
Jul 31, 2025 at 12:26 PM UTC
Her feelings played like fire,
Messing her up along with the ashes of burning desire,
The hidden scars made her endure every depth of pain,
Chaos in her eyes made all her hopes go in vain,
Look at her jammed mind with calm beats,
And tangled soul trapped in shiny beads,
With eyes closed she tried to re-live those moments again,
Waiting for that same feel that once drove her insane.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 12:29 PM UTC
Like iron they began hitting it,
Till it got ruptured,
Like puzzle she solved and placed the right pieces,
Which left people amazed,
Then soon her soul was murdered with pain,
Because her heart was attacked with those horrifying thoughts again,
Leaving her mind drenched in sorrows,
While people watched her go insane.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
Lonely not lonely or maybe
History, HerStory
Reasons why i Choose alone, but not lonely
Everything is everything
Pretending to feel heavenly
Beautiful disasters
Hearts racing faster
Walls closing in
body feeling drained
Hearts feeling ******
Running outta luck
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 2:38 PM UTC
What do I do with this blank space
I always have something to say
But today that's not the case
What do I do with empty page
Maybe I can use it to get out of this cage
Maybe I can use it to escape this rage
What shall I do with this unwritten story
Maybe I can write words that will help them speak of my glory
Maybe my words will go down in herstory
What do I do with this bare canvas
Maybe it can bring joy and stop me from being anxious
And maybe it will get rid of all this worldly madness
What do I do on this earth that's not my home
Acquire a defiant syndrome
Or stay hidden under a dome
Forever alone?
The day of my freedom, clearly unknown
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 2:25 AM UTC
Let us,
reverently grow imagery see
round the corner verbs
of history or herstory
bring through our straining
story equality for
black grey red white
see say
in colorless sighs
say no more anything
unless
it be color-blind.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 8:08 PM UTC
History and Herstory
So much to learn from and revisit
It is behind us and past
Too many stories there told and untold
We are broken
We are imbalanced
Yesterday once more just doesn't cut it
What are they saying behind closed doors?
Behind backs
It's a schism
You have to be carefully taught to understand and accept not hate
Is there any chance of this happening before it's very past too late?
C@rainbowchaser2021
Apr 27, 2021
Apr 27, 2021 at 9:08 AM UTC
In a society,
There’s a tree called misogyny,
Where its deep roots
Grow into all girls,
Who develop in agony,
Facing judgment that feels relentless,
Much of it unspoken, a harsh irony.
This judgment seeps into our daily strife,
Trapping us within roles that limit our life.
Narrow expectations stifle our dreams,
While society’s pressure bursts at the seams.
We’re told how to act, what to say and wear,
As if our true selves are too much to bear.
Dreams of freedom fuel our inner symphony,
A quest to end this cycle of regulatory authority.
She bears the weight of expectations,
A load shaped by herstory’s complications.
With a heavy heart, she watched the tragedy,
As blame is passed down through each family.
Inheriting struggles, a cycle we see,
Each woman’s journey marked by disparity.
Disappointments linger, like shadows they stay,
A legacy of women woven in silence and gray.
The silence among women she cherished felt heavy,
An unspoken vow that let men be merry
Free from their own responsibility,
Caught in a system that kept them confined,
With “They didn’t know better” echoing in mind.
Hiding complicity in voices suppressed,
In a world where their wisdom was rarely expressed.
Each story unspoken, a weight they all share,
Navigating life with caution and care.
Yet deep in their hearts lies a yearning to be,
More than the shadows of what they could see.
In the silence, a strength that quietly grows,
A call for the change that each woman knows.
Nov 10, 2024
Nov 10, 2024 at 8:58 PM UTC
history...
herstory..
whose story?
they say we've come along way
from burden to freedom
from lesser to equal
but sad to say
in our struggle
we lost the beauty of woman
where are the ladies?
where are they who walk with pride
not because of the swing in their stride
but cuz of the power of their minds?
where are the ladies?
who refused to sell themselves short
for the vanity of flesh
and the lust of the eyes?
where are the ladies?
don't be confused
the beauty of a woman
was never found
in her *****
or her grooves
its the soul of a woman
fragile... strong...
soft... strong...
wise... strong...
oh how Eve groans
we've sold our birth right
in the name of ambition
sold our souls to break tradition...
where are the ladies?
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 12:37 PM UTC
History
Herstory
Differences
Similarities
Believe
Care
Belong to the human race
Yesterday, today,and tomorrow matters
Move with grace and stylr
C@rainbiwchaser2021
May 31, 2021
May 31, 2021 at 9:52 PM UTC
if i am again reduced to a bad memory,
i might assume that role.
when i am history and i am the writer's enemy,
i might leave those letters frozen cold.
because if that is what i am in your mind,
that might be all i'll ever be.
what do you care if i metamorphosize?
why do i care what you think of me?
i am just a bad memory
and the only pieces of me you hold
are nothing but my history.
there is nothing i can do to change that.
no part of it i can erase.
but if i am someone's bad memory,
why should that stop me from becoming
another's beloved at this present moment?
Mar 11, 2021
Mar 11, 2021 at 3:32 PM UTC
Empty pockets
Gather dust
And children’s toys
And other stuff
I reach inside
And never know
What will come up
And what will grow
Turned inside out
The pockets reveal
A history
The things we steal
Many things that gather
And find their way
Inside my pocket
It’s all okay
One day I think
I’ll write a book
Of pocket stories
Will take a look
A Herstory
A gathering docket
Of all the stuff
Inside my pocket
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 7:25 AM UTC
We sit in waiting rooms
In leafy suburbs and council estates and amongst the urban hubbub
Of life continuing without us
Around us
On NHS waiting lists and in clinics
Waiting for a swab and a stick and a booklet with a few telephone numbers
For you to call and fix yourself, if you wish
Sitting
across from our familiar stranger this week because of the new news that is our
history, Herstory
painful reality
Fresh on our twitter feeds
Souls laid out bare for everyone to see
Our hurt. And still you'll never understand what it means.
This week
Thousands of women in their weekly meet
Our stories told and untold, forgotten and remembered,
memories always a feather's distance away. Whispered
And carried through the storm.
But still you won't hear how deep
The trauma sits
But what matters is
We survive
And we are together, now.
Oct 19, 2017
Oct 19, 2017 at 11:19 AM UTC
There is a reason why, always
a reason for everything. A stranger's advice
from younger years, greeting
the first waking hours of a Coyote Ugly.
Clumsily, someone somewhere messily greets
self-reliance, loving and letting go.
Another default smoke and mirrors chain
of lists, pennies, trains into
this point in history, why
herstory is buried under
rug after rug, and
her many unborn names.
There is a reason, some always sing.
Why even the most bloodthirsty Roman fears
a simple young man, speaking foolish about
life being turned against itself--poisoning its own children.
Another default zero-sum day for all this young blood,
Icing of Magic Sugar. Yet some would say,
like a warning. There is a reason
for all our civilised education, fast calculations,
our entertaining freedoms.
Our intruders fear children growing up
from the manufactured past, a terrifying beauty
that forces the ego to face its own ragged abyssmal bride-soul:
our nuts and bolts, unmanned towers and planes,
wires and frequencies escalating
into a clashing. Calling to sleeping wisdom,
claim this terrible machine of blind sight
and weak strength. Cast away illusions,
and come Home.
Peoples forgetting and abandoning many strengths
for tricks and branded promises
too easily. Beautifully unprepared, desperately new,
and summoned by its time.
From stories of many lost villages
that met with big men and machines of attack:
A fighter recalls with lost travelers
how enemy troops have captured young fighters
because they could not recognize
the voice of their true leader.
-Inspired by Lord Of The Flies. In response to a friend's poem about survival and recovery from multi-generational childhood trauma and abuse.
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 9:58 AM UTC