"objectifying" poems
I noticed a while ago.
I am subconsciously
Objectifying everyone.
And when I think about it
Objectified people
Are easier
To deal with.
I don't think this odd tendency of mine is
Natural.
In fact, I'm sure it isn't.
It's the result of a subdued conscience.
A conscience I always had.
I cared deeply for others.
I felt bad
Cried myself to sleep
For the smallest things.
An offhand insult I wasn't sure was even heard.
A chip taken from the lunch table.
An argument to be forgotten and ignored the next day.
I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I cried
Hated myself
Continuously hit myself
Cried more
And had nightmares.
As I got older
These feelings faded
But still I get these pains in the pit of my stomach.
And I remember how I was
Before I was numbed by
Objectification.
I saw people as people.
I cried because
I don't want people to feel bad.
Not because of me!
I can't think of anything worse
Than being that picture on a dartboard
That gives the incentive to
Never.
Miss.
To be hated.
Even disliked.
Thought of as trash
As I often am
I suspect.
Looks of disgust I draw
From people I care for
Who I don't want to hurt
Who constantly hurt me.
It tears me apart
And as I write this I feel tears welling up
Which they haven't done for
Years.
I began this objectification.
"That's just a dumb person."
"He's an idiot."
"Just one of those mean kids."
And I stopped caring if I hurt them
Because caring hurts.
A lot.
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 1:42 AM UTC
Criticism is validating
Your love is a choke hold
A marriage committed to my compromise
Generic mending
Each strand of bronzed chunk, represented a vow you gave me
The scissors cold and bare, cutting it away from my body
Swept into the nearest waste facility
I was invested until the end
Dying with you was never scary
I now degrade, picking scraps off picture frame edgings
Look at us so happy
Lusted objectifying could qualify as the new I do
Well, we didn't make it to 80 not even 32
Congratulations to your selfish needs buddy
I hope you finally find you
Here take this ring, it doesn't fit me
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 12:21 AM UTC
I work for the machine
that bashes bastardized beauty
into the face of the masses
The status quo
of oppressing the Goddess
to some golden ratio
of ***** perfection
"We set the standards, baby"
An arrogance of man,
A battle born in blood
objectifying some sacred symbol,
The cosmic ****
we all crawled out of
as star dust
The holy hole
to heaven on Earth
Gaia taken advantage of
Rejecting the gift of consciousness
We'll de-evolve
like past-life regressions
like we're so self-entitled to
come back around
Among the cosmos
cradled in the crescent
Deny yourself the mystique of the feminine
The clashing of the anima and animus
The syzergy of
the sun
the moon
and us
Call on your angels
And submit to the psychosis
My brothers,
These are our
sisters and mothers
They don't want to castrate
The ******* symbol
Destroy the alpha male
And the omega oppression
The beginning and the end of
**** shaming
I worked for the
misogyny machinery of Moloch
My heart no longer beats here
It just bleeds for her.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 9:13 AM UTC
Years later
Bathsheba's psychiatrist
Was analysing the tryst
Between King David
And her.
It was no tryst
Said she.
What a slur.
He was a ******
And an opportunist.
An amoeba would concur
Said the psychiatrist
That a shower screen
And being more demure
Would have been
Quite spiritually enterprising.
You cannot expect
Kind David to desist
From objectifying your femurs
And a cracking pair of amethysts.
Don't treat me
Like some calculating
Hormone Exchange Unit
You sexist misogynist.
You are not fit
To analyse me.
You say your name's Freud
But you're wholly devoid
Of any insight
Of what is amiss
Or my troubles might be.
Not one piece of grit
Have you put in my oyster.
You obsequious churl
I'm a girl you don't mess with.
I could have you hung.
But instead she dismissed him
and booked an appointment
With a certain professor
Who went by the name of
Carl Gustav Jung.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
for logic to work, certain coordination words must be excluded from ever attain a thesaurus privilege, certain words must attain the same consistency as numbers already present, for worded logic to work, certain words cannot entertain synonyms or antonyms, and must be freed from the shackles of sophistry.
can one animate object truly objectify another
animate object?
i ask, because this supposed feminist
narrative of man objectifying a woman
seems rather bogus -
as i have to reiterate -
can an animate object truly objectify
another animate object?
i "think" (i.e. "i" deny) this to be
highly unlikely, near impossible...
i am innately inclined to the puritanical
observation,
that i can only objectify an inanimate object,
point being: a man can no more
objectify a woman than an animate
object can make an animate an inanimate
object without having to subject himself
to hammering a nail into a plank of wood:
using a hammer.
how can an animate object (a man)
objectify another animate object (a woman) -
without, first of all objectifying a part of him
as quasi-inanimate, namely his phallus?
women do not seem to be complaining
about objectification of a woman,
rather, a man objectifying his member -
and isn't that the point, to posses an object
that you're not subject to obeying?
once more how can a woman
be objectified, when in fact man is
attempting to de-subjective himself from
his genitalia?
an animate object can't
objectify an animate object -
since the contradiction is:
both are in animation...
the only time objectification
happens is when an animate object
subject an inanimate object into a purpose...
a hammer is hardly a woman,
while is hammer one-dimensional,
a woman is either mother, sister, vice,
a one night stand, a girlfriend, or a wife...
women are never objectified -
they are subject to the self-objectifiction
of man, by man alone...
and if you think that's post-modernist jargon,
let me spell it out for you:
T, O, G, E, T, A, H, A, R, D, O, N.
objectification happens when an animate
object subjects / encompasses an inanimate
object into a subject of the animate object's
intent...
unless of course you care to disclose
a fetish for necrophilia...
since only in necrophilia are women actually
objectified.
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 8:34 PM UTC
How dare society make us women feel like
Our very own bodies is a prison,
To be locked up behind the metal bars of our *******
Tied up by the chains of our curvy figures
And the sentence lying between our thighs.
And the sentence is brutal.
Consent is no longer existent
When the *** is too tempting for a man to say no
And for you to say no.
Our butts slapped,
Chests groped,
Cheeks pinched,
Thighs squeezed,
In this prison we had the decency to call our own body
We are handcuffed to the degrading appetite of a man.
Women are not a display of things to touch
We are not a dessert menu for a man’s hunger
To be ordered by catcalling:
Want a taste of a woman’s behind?
**** that ***
A taste of ****
Oh, baby, put on a show for us!
Or just the full course meal-
Hey girl, ow ow owwww!
It is about time we strong women break free.
The jailor of men- I stole the key.
It is about time we change out of our prison uniforms of
Bikinis and mini skirts and stilettos
And break down the locks that confined us.
Our prison sentence is just about up,
And when we are let loose,
Us women will no longer stand for such debasing behaviors.
And when we’re free,
It’ll be time to teach the men a little lesson
This cage of our body does not define us, boys,
Maybe try finding the prisoner behind the bars-
Her personality,
Charming smile,
And brilliant intellect,
Instead of demeaning our existence,
Objectifying our importance-
We are not your tools, your toys.
We are humans, too, you know,
With- get this- feelings.
Try manners and kindness rather than
Feeling and groping your way to a woman’s heart.
We are not a play museum- we are the artifact,
The masterpiece- Mona Lisa, Starry Night, the Sistine Chapel-
You must stand behind the red velvet ropes and perform
What the English language calls respect,
With a thing also known as consent.
This- my body- is also known as my body,
It is not his, it is not hers, and most importantly,
It is not yours.
Please try to understand this- I know, it’s super complicated.
And if you gain anything from this, let it be this:
We are not here to satisfy you-
Women are not prisoners to a man’s every need.
We are not objects- no-
And we deserve to be heard.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 11:52 AM UTC
Butterflies and crows circling the water
Dive
headfirst, closed eyes into the ocean.
Fly.
Rest easy
my
dearest;
how I've missed you
but only the physical things
only the ****** things
I'm objectifying you
(....how rude)
I'm riding on the waves of creation
fixating on free form and relation
with Self
Life is animated now, see the things
that we missed?
Life is kissable
It tastes salty and beautiful like seafoam
and sweet like spring blossoms
I'd offer you my hand again, but
last time you drug me down
This time I'll offer you sand instead,
and castles and sunshine
and smiles.
They're free,
you should try 'em out
sometime, baby.
There's no rush.
The sun will be waiting whenever
you wanna mosey over.
The time for moping is over.
Your misery can be over,
snap
That moment is over
That second is over
Your entire lifetime up to this point
is over
What's that you said about new beginnings?
Finding new things?
Dive in, head first, eyes closed,
towards those things you're seeking.
Don't ever stop
Don't
ever
stop
dreaming.
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 2:22 AM UTC
Don't "take" action...it doesn't belong to you.
Don't "take" action..."make" it instead.
Radioactive Reaction...I, Radio Re-Active
We make, Radioaction.
Iconoclashing against a faction Hell bent on Heaven sentiment.
Fictional filament tethered to the Town Hall Square Circular non-secular content.
Stitching Supra-stitious suspicion.
Weaving away, in the name of good faith.
Imperial pillows to suffocate un-resting heads
blankets of banners-it's story time to go to bed.
Yet here i sit...reaction-ing in script.
Creating activity...through creativity.
Cre-activity.
Recreational reaction.
Revolutionary open-caption inking passion with a digital pen.
"Make me"...such a passive statement with such a threatening proposal...a posing promise...a convenient conviction to tend.
A submissive request to influence choice over chance.
Change over circumstance...situational aggressive targets
subjectively objectifying a marketable stance.
"Make" action...don't just take it
Only then will it be yours to keep.
Jun 18, 2010
Jun 18, 2010 at 9:08 AM UTC
you're the book that she can't put down
you're the lead character in the book of her life
defined by the words on the frail pages
of the torn, musty leather bound book
stood a couple of inches above the rest on the shelf
she re-reads your story over and over
wishing to explore another life with the very fingertips she uses to repetitively turn each page
as if to discover relief from the heartache you've caused
but you're just another book on her bookshelf
that fills her body with deviance and self hate
manipulating her life with each word
each page
each chapter
she reads in anger and distaste
objectifying pain with each sentence
to a level she can longer tolerate
you become the book she tosses into the fire
your memories, your appearance become no more than the ashes laying on the floor
you're the book she ruined
you're the book that ruined her
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 6:02 PM UTC
Sipping cerveza with
Beautiful bocce ***** bowling
Through Pacific sands
While the sun tracks into the horizon
Jan 20, 2024
Jan 20, 2024 at 9:02 PM UTC
I come from a place of empathy
where perceptions
is a mix of colors
of hers, his and their
perspective.
I come from a place of empathy
where ears are made of patience,
drums sensitive to the change in wavelength,
de-weaving complexity
into simplicity.
I come from a place of empathy
where the emotions lacerating
hearts – sliced,
run parallel through me.
You lock into my embrace,
finding the comfort of compassion
amongst the rusty and scraping conditions.
When you project anger, fear, and angst
I start dissecting your past,
your rearing,
justifying and understanding
the origins of the
hand and experiences
that shaped you.
You render your mind open,
as I step in
walk among the stars, darkness
and the turbulent waves crashing within.
Your emotions tingle my skin,
and linger within me
as I understand wor(l)d apart,
developing cross-cultural understanding
and objectifying subjectivity.
Though I begin to understand
the origins, stem of your being,
swaying with your words
and hazing in the paradox of other’s being.
I choose to succumb to gravity,
and remain sturdy on certain beliefs.
Sep 18, 2019
Sep 18, 2019 at 9:11 AM UTC
I was…
Alone.
Alone in a large, large place.
Larger than I ever could’ve imagined.
Larger than, even maybe, outer space.
Looking around at all the terrible sight,
The looming darkness that stole my
Breath away…
In the midst of night.
My mind was in a haze,
And myself in a daze.
All these eyes staring at me,
Pressuring me,
Their looks...
Soft, hard, objectifying.
Melancholy, wise, forceful.
Forceful, forceful, forceful.
All these eyes, straining their visions
Just to look at me
Just to stare
Pressure.
There is no way to go.
Pressure.
No way to get away.
Pressure.
From the pressure of a million eyes.
Pressure.
Alone, in this world,
I was.
Alone, in this world,
I am.
For days and days,
These straining eyes
Stared at me.
For years and years,
These straining eyes
Pressured me.
Those eyes…
Awaited my every move.
Like I was a chess piece
In their game.
Throwing me around
Without a second thought.
Throwing me around
Without a second thought.
It felt like a waterfall.
Pouring down on me,
Pressure…
Pouring down on me.
I drown.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 5:42 PM UTC
You are not an object, you are a soul
encapsulated in the beautiful-
in a sense , the innocence you embody is heavy sent
but in this world it's a countdown like
eleven. . . ten. . .
dissolving as you appear as an object
**** your self out for the pleasure of the audience
It's tragic, wreaks havoc, it's intrinsically implied
the less you are true to the beauty that is you, the more your beauty is not reflected
is rejected, denied
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 1:56 PM UTC
I've been dreaming of memory losses or i really am losing sense of self
A painting on the room, a girl sits like an ant, three straight haired girls laughing like nothing is happening, another thinking about *** all the time; a boy in a frame, all boys watching **** all boys eating their own toes;
A tree, a whole tree in your stomach
"Your tongue is going to be enoki farm, that's what i think," he said to a carefully moonlit ice cube, he said that to his mother too, he said that to the taxi driver; now he is becoming lunatic, he wants lake, he wants paper, he wants to drown in the sky
Now is the time, now is not the time, please do not stop, oh, please stop
"Sorry i yelled, i was on my period," a boy says sorry to his grandfather, his grandfather died a year before his adolescence, his grandfather had no ears before he was buried, his grandfather was a bunny, he used to eat carrots a lot that's why a boy sees you with different eyes, that's why a boy sees you with clearer sight
You judge me unfair, but i don't care, it's better than you knowing what i really am
So we are competing, so we want to see who is more terrible at being liar, so we try to hide things in exposures, but you lose, but i also do
So we are objectifying ourselves and we don't want to stop
We love the smell, we long for the reeks, we want hurt, we want the thing they do to sinners, we want fire, we want the burns, we want the pain but we run
And no one thinks of coming back
"A year from now we will become strangers," oh, to shooting stars
But heart isn't the only thing that beats, but heart isn't the only thing that draws blood to your head
I am, i am, i am, losing my legs!
It was another way of saying i love you but you don't understand my stomach is growing, my stomach is alive, my stomach is going to **** me at midnight so i won't sleep, i won't feel sleepy at all, i will see the sun rises, and i won't fear when she is here, i won't fear even when she is outside; she exists and she proves it-
Why can't anyone do the same?
Life does not go that way, it does not go any way; life is stomachache, life is ************ and marital rapes, life is what your country does to separatists-
"I've been dreaming of wide windows," says the moon, "but there's
None wide enough for me."
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 3:42 PM UTC
Silence can surpass your conscious lessness
Silence can scream out in your heart
Objectifying the reality
Ostracizing the fiction
Beware of silence
For serendipitous can be the moment, in trice of silence
Serene can be the moments in trice of silence
Silence sails amid the slithering stories
For if you can observe, you can be silent
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 3:47 PM UTC
Don't treat me like a child
Because I've been here for fifteen years.
These tired eyes have lived the world
And are still eager to accept more
Sights.
I have seen demise
I've lived in a death oppressed mind
A have, been in the coma of death
But resurrected no doubt
By the chemicals of hospitalised insanity.
I love the world
And by that I mean
The world does not love me back
Nothing loves me back.
But I still love
How ever human we may be
We will always be stuck down
By authority figures
Giving us, not guidelines
But detailed blueprints
On how we go by our days
Its a pain
But its life
We have to deal with it
Like how we deal with our cards
I'm not sure what you've pulled
Out of the pack
But
It doesn't compare with the bloodstained broken hearts I have.
Does it?
Like every teenager I would assume that it doesn't.
Because I reside in my mechanical mind
Powered by words sung in gritty harmony
And
You are humans
Objectifying yourself
to your preferred ***
And you shall live and die
getting over the news in a average week.
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 6:30 PM UTC
No. I have had enough.
I will not be your doll
Or your little puppet
That you can manipulate
And toy with.
No. I am not an object.
I will not be dehumanized
Or be touched by you —
By your hands that linger
In my darkest corner.
No. I am a person.
I will not be enslaved by you
Or be snatched of my persona —
For I can think for myself;
And I can be myself without you.
Just STOP.
Stop making leisure
out of my fragile heart.
Stop patronizing my body
for your selfish means.
Stop making love your petty excuse
for the lies you’ve tied around my head.
Stop making me feel ***** and useless
after you call me “beautiful”every time you
get your ***** hands all over my body.
Stop objectifying me. I am my own person. I can live without you
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 8:06 AM UTC
A man blamed,
A man feared,
A male struggle.
You give her a compliment,
She blames you for objectifying her.
You give the promotion to a better contender,
She accuses you of ****** harassment.
She gets vindictive.
She wears skimpy clothing,
It's hard not to notice,
Two seconds later,
You're labeled a pervert.
You want to provide,
So her nails are always polished,
She calls you a sexist,
All you had done was make her your queen.
So what is so wrong about being a man?
Nothing.
Why are you blamed for things never done?
Unknown.
Everyone speaks of the female unfairness,
Yet no one remembers the male sacrifice.
That women too exploit the male gender,
All so they can move up a ladder.
A sense of entitlement,
A pity self secured,
Used as excuses,
In everyday life.
Why is it okay for her to objectify you,
But she gets cradled in sympathy when you give a compliment?
Why is it okay for her to ask you to cook,
But sexist if you ask her for a meal?
Why should you always pay the check if she claims to be so independent then?
Why is there such a defined double standard?
I am a woman,
To empower man.
-Kathia Mariana Landeros
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 5:50 PM UTC
Adoringly applauding
Arrogant acrobatic aristocratic,
Bourgeois bad-boys.
Braving boredom and bills,
Caught controlling criminal
Circles like a circus.
Daring to do, and to deceive
Desperate damsels in distress,
Each accepting enemies.
Everyone explaining elements
From the final fights
Frought with frustration.
Getting groovy- grown old
Garnering glittering gold.
Holidaying in Getafé,
Holding onto hands of harlots,
Implying impotence and insolence,
Ignorant in their ilk.
Jovially joking,
Jesting about juvenile jealousies;
"I kissed Katie Kurtis"
Knowingly comments one kid.
Left to love and lose,
Like Caesar and his laurels,
Making music and malice,
Manifesting manic malpractices.
Natalie narrates,
"Not now, not ever".
Obvious obstacles avoided,
Objectifying objects that are obsolete.
Praying, pondering over pros,
False prophets photographed as they pose.
Qualifying quangos,
Quantitative quelling of queries,
Raising riots and runctions,
Realising regal and royal remedies,
Celebrating summer solstice,
Solitude is bliss.
Try tampering telephones
To transcribe threat of treason,
Unreal unilateral promises
Unwound by underlying urchins.
Vowing to voice very real values,
Vox pop video views.
Wearing water coloured wellingtons,
Wondering over wax cuneiform works.
Xylophone playing exemplary,
Xavier exists in the imaginary.
Yearly yearning for you,
You're yoked as Gonne with Yeats
(unequally)
Zeroing in on Ritz and Rubble,
Rubble the Zealots want to reign.
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 6:43 PM UTC
Poetic inferences led the boy to speak in verse
Objectifying his father’s keeper, a light hearted nurse
Forced to pick up the title of the family curse
Bumping down back alley’s, swerving into Pa’s hearse
Responsibility, the weighted chain,
Attached generationally through one’s surname
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 4:44 PM UTC
Let. me.
I’m going. to. do it.
I’m going to rip every painstaking petal from my eye
I wont be okay. if the idealization kills the love. I feel
Im going to smash. And. Mangle.
These rose tinted glasses
Over this, Concrete, corner.
Don’t care who’s going to look. and judge
I am the victim
No longer will I look through a pink vial of self possessed poison
No longer will I escape true unconditional love
If there was, a Satan. this would be his game
His oracle.
Of divination.
Well. I said. **** this, I’m not going to believe in its dictation
I’m going to be. my own salvation
From its pink. Innocent. coloration
I’m going to pull, pluck, and wrench
These petals from my eye lids
It’s going to be a painfully beautiful process
Don’t be.
Deceived.
So sweet. how could it. lead you to do harm?
When. in. actuality. it will end up twisting behind my very arms!
No, I wont collaborate to torment this feeling deep inside!
Inanimate object,
Objectifying. my love.
Going to shatter this wall. that you build.
Between us.
Gonna **** this in my fury.
You separate me from my beautiful reality.
Reality, is much more beautiful. than you and I. can conceive!
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC
Every note
Every word
Penetrating like a sword into
The wounds you leave
When you deceive
The injuries you inflict
Objectifying her
And her all too human needs
She cleaves to you with all she has left
Needing only tenderness to keep
Her roof from caving in
Never saying what you mean
Because her life is strung up
From the ceiling by thin
Knotted strings
Each thread to be
Tread carefully as not to shake
The limb upon which the nest rests
You don't seem to know her anymore
The muted throat you knew
Before has learned to counter
Whilst still hiding from
The uneven voice that
Spurns justified unbelief
Beyond the sum of inability
To combat or rather to retreat from
Bigoted obscenities which do not
Quite fly overhead instead
They are spat with no discretion
And blatant direction
From cavities in prejudiced faces
Into the ears of one whose self
Is bottled up in a medicine cabinet
Next to the antidepressant
Falling into disrepair
And sinking deeper into despair
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 6:02 PM UTC
Hummingbird-hawk-moth and honeysuckle
Dewey aroma wafts, whilst luscious colors lure
Tubes of flower half full with nectar buckle
Furred insect cares not posy’s thoughts impure
Yet lured, yes lured, to stamens ***** quite more
Fancied moth puts out its long filigreed tongue
Anthers reaching for coveted wings to dust
Objectifying prey, tempting juices corolla young
Wild waltzing flight circulating pollen in lust
Honeysuckle’s sweet sensual seduction a must
Qualities as these voluptuous encounters
Reveal to mind complex ****** intricacy
Flower employing moth as vehicle mounter
Carrying to other blossoms pistol’s ecstasy
Nature’s chance romantic dance of delicacy
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 9:44 AM UTC
It's not about self respect.
I could be walking around naked
And still respect myself as much as when I'm fully dressed.
So what is it about? It is about distractions?
If so why do we have to cover our bodies while boys walk around with their pants around their knees?
Leggings being banned for being a distraction?
I'm not gonna apologize for wearing pants if boys don't apologize for objectifying me.
I'm not a dog, don't whistle at me.
And don't slap my *** as I walk down the halls.
I'm not your *** toy.
So don't make me apologize for being a girl when these boys won't apologize for sexualizing me.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 11:51 AM UTC
smashbook wasn't nearly as offensive
with its objectifying koan-click--
on and on, smash after smash
you sit here, and here, and here
angry soldier, oversexed boxer,
underpaid, overworked mexican
what will my face look like once i am born?
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 2:52 AM UTC