"minimized" 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
I will stumble bravely through this pain
embrace its hand firmly and delve into my shame
I am the keeper of every single guilty thought
that taunts my identity and keeps me stuck
I am tormented by memories that consume my mind
This soul has begun purging, I will no longer be blind
My eyes have witnessed many hateful glares
I’ve held back tears of sadness because those closest did not care
They minimized the trauma I had to endure
but this child inside of me has become the cure
Through courage and wisdom my story will be told
And the life I was meant to lead will begin to unfold
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 1:38 AM UTC
I can no longer disguise
Contempt in my eyes
The lows and the highs
It is you I despise
Heart no longer complies
While your heart denies
It’s me you chastise
Deceitful demise
There’s no compromise
I agonize
While you apologize
But my love I surmise
It’s fossilized
And I've normalized
What you’ve minimized
Gone are my cries
I’m numb from your lies
Like this I will die
Sep 18, 2025
Sep 18, 2025 at 9:35 PM UTC
How can I
Falcon fly
While I die
In a web of lies
Where they brutalize
Us like flies
We must communicate
By connecting
To avoid rumors of hate
That are infecting
The non-inspecting
No problem detecting
Yet happiness expecting
Tyrant electing
Issue deflecting
Fascism respecting
Public that's perplexing
So the Internet should remain harmlessly neutral
Instead of adding to our economic Kama Sutra
Finding new ways to ***** each other
Like restricting access to information
So we won't hear the screams of our brothers
To the rich and powerful's elation
Dealing with this pseudo-fame
Feels like a burdensome shame
In order to listen to people
I have to hear them talk
But I fall into a deep hole
When their ignorance is written in chalk
Easily erased
But also easily traced
Yet not so easily faced
Until we're easily replaced
By the voices of our oppressors
Promising to alleviate the pressure
If we'll take a position that's lesser
And never ask them to be a confesser
Each electorate
Must be kept separate
And must be made desperate
So take away their voices
That should limit their choices
The rich want to be molding the clay
So they say to touch it you'll have to pay
I can't sit here and stand it
This particular predicament
That's beyond my bandwidth
Eating this **** sandwich
Given by a grand witch
So I add the name capitalist
To my ******* list
Which they seem to agree with
They rationalize you have to be an ******* to survive
They explain in business that's the only way to thrive
Yet get upset when I call them the biggest ******** alive
The Internet can do infinite good
Yet it is minimized and misunderstood
The faithless fathom
It as a nameless chasm
Made inside our rage filled cabins
But they refuse to see the connections
The healthy introspection
And historical corrections
They'd rather use deflection
Mentioning mundane memes
Or divisive digital teams
They see the shell
But not the turtle
They put us in hell
With a data girdle
Everybody has the same capability to add to the Internet
So they should have equal capacity to use the Internet
Sometimes our economic systems make us act counterintuitively
To what is fundamentally needed by our species
Something humanity has never had before
A comprehensive brain that can connect and inform us all
We've seen money corrupt the minds of humans
Let's not let it corrupt the mind of humanity
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 1:22 PM UTC
We live and breath off death, can you not smell
the corpses in your stomach?
The touch of worthlessness in your stomach?
Would you like to ****
Is it better that death is wrapped up in all natural anti-botic free?
Is death better with food coloring to make it look real?
Does the word wholesome satisfy your whole love of life?
One of our lives takes an average of 10,000 others,
is it worth it?
The fleeting savagery of feeling natural?
Of ripping into ribs, just think you are eating a lung.
Nature also is starving.
Life is in flux but certainly the grilled chicken with olive oil
does not know that, would you like to see a picture of the creature you killed?
We talk of life being small in labeled and reverend boxes if our dust is
small what should we make of the animals killed and shipped all over
never named, life a cost to be minimized.
Where forests burnt alongside the coal for the barbecue
is it worth it?
A cow is to many what puppies are to us
yet we enjoy burgers and cry with the dying dogs.
Life given to cows for the sole purpose’s of being rapped
chained down and killed, a burger is a stomp of approval.
A carton of milk at fairway an hour ****
heavily processed.
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 12:26 PM UTC
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Now, you may read the poem:
“Jack and Jill
went up the hill
and Jack came running back to mummy:
‘Mummy! Mummy!’
said Jack
‘Jill pulled my pants down
and poured ice-cold water
on either side
of my bottom!’”
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Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 5:35 AM UTC
You stood in the limelight
before a shaft of blazing luminescence
emitted from the zenith positioned
matrix of all energy
The brightness illuminated your
radiant countenance
as blackness enveloped around your
structures as in a early baroque
by Rembrandt
Your form was made from the finest
materials
But your representatives stood in defiance going beyond
their eroded gardens and
trampled vegetation and beast
underfoot; even defecated plutonium
in my backyard
and belched various gases in my face
Luxury is still your ideology;
all to sure in obtaining
unlimited resources
You are still heavily consuming
the best
still maintaining the frivolous notion
that all is well
never anticipating
that time passes into the future
The shaft of blazing sunlight
has insidiously been replaced
by a blinding interrogation lamp
as darkness licks at your morals
and creeps upon your very being
small cracks are now being discovered upon your once lovely face
No longer can you obtain desirous
riches as readily
as options become minimized,
while playing and bullying a winning serious game of monopoly
against poor countries
Panic is beginning to take hold
as reality overcomes frivolity
You are starting to run,
you have already left one of your golden combat boots
in Vietnam; later pirated black gold
from Mesopotamia
under perjury and severed our nation with the fascistic sword of xenophobia,
and plundered the spirits, at home, and other innocent minorities unjustly
And nationalised yourself from a continent to an island regressing
into itself; homogenized into exceptionalism and the nervous propagandized
gnashing of Caucasian teeth
But doubtless to say
there is no reason
for a prince to save you
because you have gotten too old,
much too corporatised,
too corrupted, too soon, too fast,
YOU MUST SAVE YOURSELF!!
And I know you can
And I know you can
be that lady with that beacon torch of hope...once...again
And whence comes the nourishment of love that flourishes once more...
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 6:58 PM UTC
(6W)
Sleep my children, you, not forgot.
Postscript:
Lured you here under false pretenses
What matters six or ten or
Nine eleven,
When each word enervates the midnite senses.
Through chance or fate,
You, selected on that date,
Thy names inscribed,
A select few, a chosen tribe.
In a megalopolis,
Where hurry and rush,
The hallmarks of the populace,
A city oft condemned as heartless,
Your place, your alphabet unique,
Permanently preserved.
Rest easy then,
Tho our names will be dust and forgot,
You individually, collectively,
Will be remembered eons on.
No need to economize,
Tears, the numbers of words,
Draw some comfort, tho minimized,
Your names, this day, all recalled,
Thus I bless you,
As you bless us,
Sleep my children, you, not forgot.
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 3:16 AM UTC
In the grand tapestry of teaching, oh what an irony,
Heavy workloads and limited time, a teacher's reality.
The demands of planning and administrative tasks,
Leave little room for professional growth, an ironic mask.
Standardized assessments hold their prominent sway,
Personalized instruction often pushed astray.
In the pursuit of measurable student success,
Oh what an irony, tailored learning becomes less.
Creativity yearns to dance with the curriculum's frame,
But guidelines and standards can stifle its flame.
Balancing innovation and prescribed requirements,
Oh what an irony, creativity often expires.
Assessment-focused teaching takes center stage,
Holistic development may find itself in a cage.
The pressure to achieve desired outcomes so keen,
Oh what an irony, limiting the broader learning scene.
Teachers, pillars of education, yet often unrecognized,
Their impact immense, but acknowledgment minimized.
In the realm of recognition and fair compensation,
Oh what an irony, undervaluing their dedication.
Autonomy, a cherished gift for teachers to possess,
But administrative constraints can hinder their success.
Top-down decisions and rigid schedules in place,
Oh what an irony, limiting their teaching grace.
Work-life balance, a delicate tightrope to tread,
Nurturing students' well-being while their own is spread.
In the pursuit of equilibrium, an ironic juggle,
Teaching others to thrive, their own balance a struggle.
Outcomes become paramount, their value held high,
Yet the process of learning can sometimes pass by.
Prioritizing scores over growth and lifelong skills,
Oh what an irony, neglecting the learning thrills.
In the world of teaching, ironies abound,
Navigating the contradictions, often profound.
But amidst these challenges, educators endure,
Oh what an irony, their passion remains pure.
May 15, 2023
May 15, 2023 at 2:48 AM UTC
I was born January 30th, which might explain my stares that are as cold as a winter night. People assume that since I am five foot eight, I should be intimidating although I'm the furthest from it.
You see, I have this vice where I chew off my fingernails when I get nervous. I suppose it's because I've somehow convinced myself that if my fingernails become minimized, my anxiety would too.
I know it sounds absurd but I enjoy laughing really hard at poorly composed jokes for absolutely no good reason. And, although I don't allow myself to cry as often as I should, it reminds me that I've still got fixing to do.
My mind works like a treadmill. Things are always coming back to bite me no matter how far I run.
I'm still running.
I'm still learning how to whisper.
You see, when it comes to talking about myself, I shout! I'll talk to anyone who will listen. However, even though I seem to open up easily, I have a fear of people getting close enough to hear my heartbeat.
I have this odd fascination with nature. I assume it's because no matter how persistent I am, the trees never argue back. I don't like being alone but when it's just me around the flowers blooming, the wind blowing, and the bees buzzing, I can feel my heart growing fonder.
I've never liked the idea of the military but I have this purple heart. I got it from beating myself up over things I have no control over.
Hi, my name is Emily and I'm still trying to figure myself out.
My hobbies include over-thinking until I give myself a migraine, blurting out my life story, and trying to convince my mind that my heart is worth listening to.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 5:20 PM UTC
Shoulders back
Head up
Lips soft
Hair swaying
Big *******
Waist minimized
Hips squared
Nice ***
Legs long
Feet delicate
She walks with a purpose
with a grace
that leaves boys drooling at her feet
Her peers try to steal them away
she sneaks in though,
stealing all of their gazes.
She never settles,
she only takes the best
and never leaves any for the rest.
All it takes is a smile
and a giggle,
and they come running.
She's smart and funny,
poised and controlled,
loved and lusted for.
How I am envious of her,
she would make me the prize of my town,
but instead she makes me the ***** of the internet.
She has stolen men from their wives,
money from their wallets,
and robbed boys of their lives.
I think that this new one,
could be the one to take me away,
but she knows.
She knows that he is only a toy
and she the cat,
playing with him so carefully.
I will run away when he comes around,
and she will keep him at a safe distance
while I cry over my decisions.
I can't win
Because without her no man will want me,
But with her no man can have me.
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 2:35 PM UTC
There is true art in words
Past the arguments & debates between worlds.
More meaningful than the daily gossip, wide spread news between groups of girls.
Deeper than the pictures painted, for those who can not see.
Communication without words, resulting in generations acting primitively
More commonly misunderstood, no guidelines to follow
Not even a bible to read, the fruit for uplifting our souls spiritually
No narratives to relate to, or even songs to sing
The expression of one's character, minimized as far as only sight can see.
Even those who can not hear, use words to speak. Swift movement of their hands, body language and gestures
All used to forms words ya see.
Men say women use them to much, women say men don't use them enough
Both parties using them the same, most with intentions of relaying true love
No hobby or passion untouched by its beauty
There is true art words, without them... where would we be? ...
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
seas receive
thousand cries
stifled sighs
broken ties
silent tales
held within
cache sounds
unheard din
breakers come
to incite
endless rite
pointless fight
tall he stands
resolute
rocklike form
absolute
striding on
ancient seas
takes her due
gradually
steals his hold
stealthily
firmament
casts its spell
undermines
with each swell
strategy
crystallized
her control's
minimized
empyreal
victory
behemoth
must agree
all it takes
is a move
change his stance
he can prove
though the seas
snarl and pout
in the end
there's no doubt
while there's worth
status tall
at some point
we may fall
think ahead
where we be
lest we're trapped
in some sea
Jun 18, 2016
Jun 18, 2016 at 7:08 AM UTC
The moments of bonding
Are so precious
I just wish i could experience more
But people are too stubborn to accept their flaws and embrace change
That the cheery house and it's cheery lawn become deluded and deranged
Everything isn't alright at the dinner table
Reminding me of a bad television fable
Nothing is stable
Because the rift doesn't want to become one again
It just wants to abate itself further
Sending us into more head-spins than we'd ever want
Now our souls look minimized and gaunt
These special moments are what i flaunt
Because they're so rare
I really do care
I try to do my best
I just detest
This feeble minded confliction
That constantly attaches itself onto us.
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 4:45 AM UTC
June eighth:
That random warm summer day
I heard
That in the hospital, an hour away
There was a room where my father lay;
Surrounded by doctors and nurses,
Conscious as they pushed, a wire up and into his brain;
To remove the thing, that awful thing
That could take my father away forever.
A blood clot that sat unaware in his vein;
One stroke that minimized everything.
From the time of the phone call
I sat in my room
Isolating myself
Coping with my thoughts as best I could
I wondered if he was ok
We went to see him for the first time,
On Father’s Day:
My 11 year old little sister and I
Balloons and cake and presents.
All smiles so as not to make it worse.
When I saw him I bit my lip,
That warm coppery taste filled my mouth
Instead of the tears that would have been.
When he talked his words slurred, uneven
He saw the pain in my eyes and tried to seem more himself,
He tried to sit up and straighten,
But he had lost much of his strength and could not.
I sat with him, next to his bed
My mind numb and afraid
The only noise the underlining sound of the TV
After a time he reached over with his good arm and squeezed mine
Just like he always does
But his voice wavered,
And something new became clear to me.
Even as he was still my father and alive
He was no longer the father
Made to be immortal to a small child:
Someone that is always there
No matter what, never going away,
But that is not an immortal idea.
It is but what it is
What people want it to be;
Its not truth.
For, at any second anywhere
My father can be taken from me.
Now life tells me that my father is mortal.
Just like any other
He works to regain what was lost;
Step by step,
New things return.
But still some evade him
And he sometimes saddens,
Mourning his taste, or strength in a hand or finger.
Ideas are immortal and ever changing
Their creators however, meet their own end,
And one time or another are taught why…
Perhaps for my father this is but a life lesson.
And perhaps he will learn from it.
Perhaps the lesson wasn’t only for him.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 11:01 PM UTC
The light fell through the window shades,
one sliver right between those amber eyes,
and it struck me how little I know of you.
How little I know of anyone.
Every day it feels like there is a new way to hide
from the world. What are we all so scared of?
Intimate touches are minimized by the fear of
being left alone, and with no one taking leaps of faith
we've ended up with our feet weighted to the ground.
Cemented by our inability to push past indecision,
solidified by our lack of communication.
Your eyes may be bottomless, but that shouldn't
stop me from diving in. If I should drown in your
subconscious, I would revel in my lungs collapsing.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 10:34 PM UTC
when i'm asked what i want to do
with the rest of my life,
"spend it with the only one
who overwhelms me
with feelings of contentment,
makes me smile like nothing
is ever wrong or out of place,
and comforts me with his arms
of relief
and bliss"
are the only things
that run through my mind.
but to the person asking me,
that sounds absurd. unimaginable.
unrealistic.
so i resort to a shrug and simply say
"i just want to be happy"
but your name is embedded in those
five minimized words.
-h.m.r.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
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Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 10:30 AM UTC
You stood in the limelight
before a shaft of blazing light
emitted from the zenith positioned
matrix of all energy
The brightness illuminated your radiant countenance
as blackness enveloped around your structures as in an early baroque by Rembrandt
Your form was made from the finest materials
But your representatives stood in greedy defiance going beyond their eroded gardens and trampled vegetation and beasts underfoot, even defeacated plutonium in my backyard
and belched various gases in my face
Luxury is your ideology,
all too sure in obtaining
unlimited resources
You are still heavily consuming the best
still maintaining the frivolous notion
that all is well
never anticipating
that time passes into the future
The shaft of blazing sunlight
has insidiously been replaced
by a blinding interrogation lamp
as darkness licks at your morals
and creeps upon your very being
No longer can you obtain desirous
things as readily
as options become minimized
Panic is beginning to take hold
as reality overcomes frivolity
You are starting to run,
you have already left one of
your expensive golden combat-boots
in Vietnam; later pirated black gold from Mesopotamia
under perjury
But doubtless to say
there is no reason
for a prince to save you
because you have gotten too old,
much too corporatized,
too corrupted, too soon, too fast,
YOU MUST SAVE YOURSELF!!
And I know you can
And I know you can
be that lady with that torch again...
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 1:53 PM UTC
The ink upon her body is only ever seen
By those who bruise humanity to walk the in between
The bodies that have entered will open every door
And drag along duplicity to make of love a *****
And she is the arena, the skin upon her bones
A spectacle of mastery immersed in many tones
Distractions made it easy to take away her key
And generate a simple croon that minimized her plea
Her bed became a lover in whom she sought to rest
A journey made beneath the sheets to consciously forget
That there is still a temple, a place they cannot touch
The candle lit oblivion where pain is just a crutch
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 2:24 AM UTC
A simple fire,
Dowsed in the flammable decisions of a simple man,
Even the act of putting his words onto paper gives him the narcissistic relief of being closer called an artist, to himself, by himself,
He sees faces daily that are like ghosts now to the simple man whose mind meanders and thoughts get foggy,
Hours go by like seconds in his catatonic state,
Everything he does is a simple man’s choice where input is minimized and outcomes are swiftly forgotten,
Where memories from years ago bleed into what happened yesterday or the day before,
Each experience becomes an island,
Waking up with no connections,
Just an oceans worth of uncertainty,
Like a composer who hears the music of his orchestra for the first time and, oblivious, leads them into crescendo with a simple man’s insincere talents,
Absent, in many things, he tries to live as comfortably as he can with routine becoming a safety blanket that itches like hell in the middle of the night but still he manages to sleep most of his days away,
Every regret for everything he could be doing but isn’t,
Everything he shouldn’t be doing but is,
Lives on his scalp and the insides of his decaying cheeks,
Maybe it’s all just the summer heat getting to him.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 2:44 AM UTC
The Love I lost is fear I found
Face to face, with devils round
Angels falls while demons rise
Countless truths disguised as lies
My thoughts they sink beneath my soul
Bottomless Pitt or a ******* hole
Sins they feel like trucks on shoulders
My life is ****** no **** bent over
Karma flashed before ur eyes,
You felt her squirting on ur thigh
******* cheat with “random” guys
Ppl **** we don’t know why
Conversations minimized
While revenge is televised
I’m sorry Lord I’m falling but
You know my heart was meant to fly
I look my demons in the face
And told them ***** ****** try,
They told me that they in my head
They let me know don’t even cry
The actions that you thought was sane
Is causing everybody pain
Now ur time suffer right on the track just like a speeding train
Now I got a loaded gun
but my demons didn’t run
They said ***** ***** shoot, to **** us all you just need one”
Trust I was tempted dogg,
To squeeze the trig and end it all
They say they don’t understand
I leave my brains all on the wall
No u see inside my mind
Don’t forget the piece outside
The warnings that I tried to give
Was treated ill and tossed aside
Now you see the joke the was real
I’m bleeding yet I’m fighting still
Now I see that I’m still alive
**** it dog I’m gone survive
Staggered to my broken feet
Look my demons in the eye
Told that ***** ***** “look I
Know u dead but time to die
Light is dead and darkness thrives
Jun 8, 2019
Jun 8, 2019 at 3:26 AM UTC
He bounced around
from town to town,
never becoming whole.
'Cause in his parents' eyes,
he was a parasite, hiding in
a hole.
And he let his friends down,
with promises and hopes
that deluded and destroyed
him. Throwing his words a-
-round, never slowing down
to enjoy the beer and bodies.
He bounced around
from heart to heart,
gathering sympathy
like gold coins; hoping
that he could, if they
really would, stay and
cope a little.
And he let them down,
like his friends and his
parents. He thought a-
-bout dying and writing.
He thought about his
brother and every girl
he thought he loved,
trying to understand
if he could love if he
could not love himself.
He bounced around
from key to key,
writing about nonsense.
Or maybe it was important
and he minimized it, because
that's how he coped; or that's
how his father talked about
his son's accomplishments.
I guess his son would have
to ask himself if he ever
accomplished anything worth
making his dad proud.
And when he went to
the ward, Chestnut Ridge,
that was three years ago.
I guess he's still around,
working hard, New Yorker
something, something, something.
Dad is proud, likes Bojack Horseman
and The Walking Dead; all of this stuff
is so ******* irrelevant.
My dad is proud.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 9:32 PM UTC