"stereotype" poems
Females and males are one in the world,
although that is not the belief that has been furled.
We are told that one gender is better than the other,
it seems it's just one stereotype; one after another.
Equality can become realised if only we believe
and take the initiative to take action and achieve.
Why shouldn't men and women be treated the same?
To have equal rights and equal pay, that should really be our aim.
Men, gender inequality is your issue too,
although you may not agree, I'm afraid it is true.
You should have the right to express your emotions and be what you please,
You should not be pulled back by stigma, but instead be who you are at ease.
Instead of fighting, we should be pulling together,
and make this journey a joint endeavor.
We are of equal value if only we open our eyes,
at the heart of change is where we become most wise.
Now or never? If not us then who?
the interest in this movement must come through.
Equality is not a privilege but a human right,
all genders on the spectrum should be able to shine bright.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 4:41 PM UTC
We were born in different shapes, colors, and size
Not a single embryo was able to decide their DNA or blood type
But that shouldn't make us less humans than the others
It's the diversity that makes us exquisite and beautiful
Break down the stereotype that beauty is fair skin,
that beauty is a skinny and blonde-haired lady
that beauty is wearing clothes with branded labels
that beauty is applying tons of foundation and mascara
Who are we to determine the standard of beauty, anyway?
While each of us is God's creativity,
authentically made by His hands
Who are we to judge God's taste in art, anyway?
While each of us is uniquely magnificent,
as His creations are never less than a masterpiece
Keep in mind that the real beauty lies within ourselves,
beneath our skin, between our thoughts, and inside our soul
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 4:44 AM UTC
To be a woman
Is to be property
To act ladylike
Is to mold into the stereotype
To speak up is unheard of
Just go crawl behind the white man you see in front of you
A glimpse
Of steel is all you see before
The warmth of blood drains every part
Every being you thought to be strong
Now gone
Pick up the pieces
Bandage that wound
We have a war
One that was fought before
Blood on the knife
Stained the suit of the man walking to the congress chair
He holds it up with a smile
And the other men in the house follow
As they add it to the closet of achievements
We are strong
We are not blind to perspective
We see in color
Stitch up the knife wound
Targeted at the abdomen
Property does not fight back
A piece of land does not speak words
The cornfields do not unite
To be a woman
Is to have a voice
One loud enough to be heard over laws
That prohibit natural human rights
Our bodies are not to be tagged by the market vendor down the street
Politicians now playing a game of operation in their makeshift white coats
Forgetting all that we have achieved
Women's bodies are now more dangerous
Than a gun on school property
To have a body
Is to have a choice
To be a woman
Is to bring justice and unity to all
Jun 1, 2020
Jun 1, 2020 at 12:25 PM UTC
Every day we pass thousands of people on the street, and barely even a hello is exchanged, maybe a smile if your lucky.
It might be a little funny to think that each of these people are going wherever they are going, they are living their lives and you have the opportunity to be apart of it even if it's just five seconds.
You can do a lot with five seconds, for all you know a quick smile to someone passing by might change their life.
Despite someone's appearance, they could be a completely different person that you might expect, breaking the stereotype.
The sweet old women sitting next to you on the train, smiling and talking as if the world was heaven, is counting her numbered days. The coloured man across from you with the bloodied knuckles and bruised face saved a teenage girl from being ***** last night.
The 18-year-old girl on the other side of the train, showing more skin than clothing in a ******
And the boy in the corner covered in tattoos and piercings and is wearing only black is on his way to the hospital to read to the children in the cancer wing like he does every afternoon ever since he lost his little sister.
My point is simple, nothing is rarely as it seems. Each stranger you pass has there own story. Don't judge based off what you see because your vision is a misconception.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 1:42 PM UTC
Stereotypes are a commodity
Stereotypically
My childhood should be filled with only happiness
Happiness because of my color
No struggle
Struggle should never have confronted me
Never should have shown me how to survive
Or how to better myself
Because me being me I realize
I realize the uneducated hide
Hide behind stereotypes the unconsciously enforce
Enforcing by proving the statistics and stereotypes
Statistics and stereotypes that have to have an origin
If you judge me by stereotypes
You will fail to realize
The stereotypes you fight to uphold
will never define me
I will succeed not because of my color
Or because of a stereotype
I will accomplish my goals
Only because I refuse to let others limit
The excellence I can achieve
By pushing stereotypes that hold hardly any truth onto me
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC
When I told my phsysical therapist that I'm a lesbian,
her answer was a question I did not ever expect;
"So... Are you a lesbian because you are disabled and you cannot get a boyfriend?"
I was speechless,
looking at the wall,
stunned. Holy ****
she did not just stereotype every single disabled homosexual to have ever existed.
I stammered no,
and I tried to explain that I have had boyfriends before,
it just wasn't my thing.
Looking back now I realise that,
I should not have explained anything because I don't ever need to explain anything about the people I love.
I have had a thing for girls,
since I was three,
and when I was three years old I did not notice my disability,
the way it's being noticed today.
And the absolute most heartbreaking thing about both my sexuality and my disability is,
that I still do not notice it as much as everybody else seems to do.
I can be the best girlfriend ever,
no matter what my sexuality is,
no matter how my body looks.
And don't get me wrong;
I like guys too. I think guys are wonderful.
If God had created Eve and Ava,
who would have brought me into this World?
I can get a boyfriend if I want one,
maybe someday I find the most amazing guy ever,
and I will not let my sexuality stand in my way.
But for now,
I am a disabled homosexual,
who decided to tell you about it.
And dear physical therapist:
I have never judged you,
not even when you told me you fell for a fat guy,
and now you're married.
So don't ask me if I'm only a lesbian,
due to the fact that I have a disability,
because guess what?
I'll have my disability no matter if,
the person I'm dating,
has a ***** or a ******
(e.k.j.)
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 2:24 PM UTC
my heart nearly stopped every time i had to cross the street
so let’s thank the queen for writing it down
before she’s just another thing i have to step over
all the rest have tickled my feet so far
and everything under construction reminds me that these days
the only remedy seems to be better luck and more cloud cover
i’ve been racing to crash on the couch
just to wake up to see if i have time for it all
and i want the stereotype to be true so i have nothing to cry about
with the way things are going
you’d tell me not to be so brutal to myself
but the thrill i used to know is now paying its dues to the concrete
i was almost convinced i wasn’t asleep
when she whispered paris
nothing, everything may have changed
so this is not like anything i’ve never meant:
my heart nearly stopped with the regret of not talking to you
it's hard killing birds when you don't have any stones and
besides this time i think i've really done it
two days and this is already my favorite story but
second chances don't have to be so mysterious
maybe i just wanted to see you smile again
i should have said it w/o one of and the s after the L
still choosing o over x
and your pull showed my hands a home in the back of your denim
two across the channel makes the significant not so, if you want it
i’ll keep looking for you so long as you
don’t stop drawing me maps
if i died in my indecision then
your mouth showed me heaven
you’re the closest thing to purpose
i’ve ever tasted
i wish you knew how much i mean that
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 7:33 AM UTC
I want to write a poem about you,
but all the words sound good in my head until they get out on paper.
I can't make anything out of the slur of words I wish I could say to you.
There's a sentence for all the years I want you to have back,
and words for all the days you spent waiting for probation in a cell.
You are still just as much of a man as you were before they stripped away your sanity.
They say that people make mistakes,
But you had to give up most of your life for just one of yours.
I like to think you spend so much time in the company of a bottle
because somehow, in your mind, you'll find the years that you lost at the bottom of every one.
I want you to know that Alcoholism is not a choice,
Nor is it a death sentence.
I want you to know that I do not bow my head in shame at you;
You are not a monster.
You are a child,
One that never got to experience innocence before it was taken from you.
You are not a trophy to be on display,
You are not a spectacle to be snickered at,
You are not a John Doe to be left lying in the cold,
You are not next week's breaking news,
You are not stupid,
You are not broken.
You are not a statistic,
You are not a stereotype.
You are sick.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC
the bass hits, the drum rolls
Being a victim of a spilt decision of a racial war at 10 years old
Was never told, a way to be, but my fathers legacy, made me look at one side painfully cold
Wide awake, as I lay my head
On the belief my kind is dead
The proper stereotype of a white kid
But the preference to black kids outfit
Putin on a show, to simply fit in
Not knowin were the **** I should of truly been
The constant pain of feelin like ****
A young man who is confusingly mixed...
...
I see a star who shines bright, in a darken night,
Did you know, not all stars shine white?
They're shades of black, just remember that...why couldn't I see this logic way back?
Another poser, who's addicted to rap..
"Ya not black" like what kind of stupid **** is that?
You speak a way, but was always consider white
Do you see the mixed feeling? ******* mixed signs!?
Why can't ya accept me for just me?
Why can't ya just learn to love me?
Why who I am means I have act a certain way!?
that kinda **** makes me doubt people everyday!
My verses struggle with a troubled hook!
Can you see me now? Have you even looked?
A black father, who showed me fear
A white mother, who's voice I hear!
Another song, sharing my lies!
Another fight, with my dark side!
When will ya get it and just put this **** to rest? You judge so much, make it hard to be my best
Your words are a bullet! Penetratin my chest, I done clean up my act but you keep making another mess
I'm tired of trying to please you, tired of trying to defeat you
Ya minds are so glassy, it obvious to see through. **** you, be gone! Stop and please carry on! Fly away! Take a trip don't tell me when ya landin
You all pushed me so much...........yet I'm still standin...standin...standin....but I will be gone, soon.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 2:32 PM UTC
I am Christian. I believe in the
Trinity of the Holy God, The Son, and The Spirit,
I believe that Jesus is the Son of God and the savior of mankind
I own more than three Bibles
I teach Sunday School every week and
I pray every night.
I am Christian,
And as such I
Hate queer....
Phobia. I can not stand intolerance
And I cry at hatred,
Blood running in the streets,
Fear running in veins,
Running away from the truth.
I am Christian, yet
There are bloodstains in my Bible
And the prayers on my lips
Are for forgiveness for who I am.
The entire story of ***** is
Crossed out, blacked out angrily
In the dead of night
In all 4 versions,
Leviticus is blurred,
Wrinkled with my tears,
Soaked with my pain.
I am Christian
And I am not homophobic.
I know my church won't recognize
Non cis-het marriages,
Leaving entire worlds of rainbows in the dark
The higher-ups insist
Weddings are white, shiny, husband-and-wife, happily-ever-after affairs
That shove me and my friends, my family, my lovers,
Into closets of heavenly wrath and
Fire and brimstone sermons,
Locked into personal hells of shame
And confusion.
I am Christian
And I am not straight.
My God doesn't hate me for who I love,
He loves me because I try not to hate.
So to the homophobic Christians, I ask:
Who is your God?
Who is your God that supposedly condemns people He has created in his own image?
Your rainbow picket signs are nothing but a cruel mockery of a covenant
Not truly shared by you.
Your tongues are no better than the viper's who called Adam and Eve to sin,
You are the vipers of my world.
Do you think you avoid judgement
When trans teens are killed
By the bullets you spit with your words?
Who is your God,
That tells you to picket the funerals
Of those you hate?
Who is your God,
That refuses to let you open your heart to differentness?
I am Christian,
And I don't need your permission to
Love my God.
Take my scars and tear-stained Bibles,
Listen to my fervent prayers,
Watch my lips tremble when
I listen to my pastor.
I don't need your permission
To love who I want,
In fact I don't want it.
Take my midnight screaming and fear of coming out,
Listen to my frantic pleading for a hand to hold,
Watch my eyes linger on her chest.
I am Christian.
My God doesn't hate me for who I love,
He hates you who refuse to love
While you carry His name, if
Not his blessing.
So I ask again
Who is your God?
Because mine loves all of me,
All 5'6" of queer pride.
Who is your God?
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 12:05 AM UTC
Bunga Bunga everywhere,
a powerful man with silly hair
seduced a girl too young and scared,
was married too but didn’t care.
Corrupt and feared!
Bunga Bunga sounds like fun,
a swimming pool and saucy sun,
an Egyptian that was on the run
Or, under-aged Morocun
Who ****** the boss!
Bunga Bunga ***** and *****
coffles of women to choose
and buy and grab and ride and use,
with confidence
and so much to lose,
but why didn’t he lose?
Why didn’t he lose when it was on the news
and hundreds of thousands of people accused
him of scandal and incompetence?
He never revealed his conscience
or any remorse for play boy antics
so far removed from his pedantic
stereotype as a political leader,
more like a ****** wheeler dealer,
pervy old ***** geezer,
over cologned,
greasy,
heavy breather;
machinating falsifier;
misogynistic **********
He prized a Ruby above the rest.
Bunga bunga, what a pest...
she leaked his private fetish fest;
poor Silvio, he tried his best
to hide the bribes and bets
and ****** and drugs and threats
but never could care
what was right and
what was fair.
Could only care
about the colour of his
**** hair.
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 11:45 AM UTC
I'm tired
Of these young comedians
Making disrespectful jokes
And stereotyping
People from the south
Especially one comedian
In particular
I won't name
It's not good to stereotype
Any group of people
I appreciate your sense of humor
But stereotyping is disrespectful
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 12:45 PM UTC
I tried so hard to avoid the stereotypes
I tried so hard that I didn't realize
I was becoming one.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 6:26 PM UTC
I see the changes
At times they are clear
Other times, they seem to pass right by me...
I am growing...
Maturing...
Changing...
I am becoming a stereotype
Just not the one I thought I'd be...
Breaking rules,
Sneaking out,
Telling lies,
Cheating...
The list seems to continuously grow longer
Is that bad?
Or good?
I don't even know anymore
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC
You look at me and see a reflection of an image
An image based on assumption
Assumption based on a stereotype
A stereotype based on insecurities
I look at you and see a person
A person with a unique life
A life with a complicated past
A past with a promising future
We look at each other
You judge I wonder
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC
I am not my age
I'm more than a hoodie
Stood on a street corner
Hands in my pockets
I am not my age
I'm more than popular music
Blasting in my headphones
So loud you can hear
I am not my age
I'm more than just hormones
Racing through my brain
Making me unreasonable
I am not my age
I'm more than just indifference
Not caring about school or health
Not caring about anything
I am not my age
I'm more than just my phone
Social-media crazy
Hidden behind a screen
I am not my age
I'm more than just a stereotype
Loud, brash, unruly, lazy,
Phone-obsessed, violent
I am not my age
I have a complex personality
I have inner depth
I think about things that matter
I am not my age
I write poetry
I write stories
I explore people
I am not my age
I'm vegetarian by choice
I hate to hurt anyone
But I will fight for my friends
I am not my age
My emotions are valid
But I keep them hidden
For fear of being manipulative
I am not my age
I do not give you my respect
Just because you've lived longer
You have to earn it
I am not my age
I care about politics
It is my country
What happens to it matters to me
I am not my age
I'm struggling through exams
I'm stressed but trying
I'm determined to work for what I want
I am not my age
I'd be happy to have a job
I don't loiter or lurk
I'm not lazy
I am not my age
I'm not dangerous
Seriously, I'm a ****
I get scared walking down the street in the dark
I am not my age
I have five pets
They matter to me
I take care of them
I am not my age
I'm trying to get to school
You don't indicate
And I'm inconsiderate
I am not my age
My dad left me at two
My mum bakes cakes
But you didn't think about that
I am not my age
I suffer from depression
I'm not 'moody' or 'grumpy'
But you think I'm all just hormones
I am not my age
So don't perpetuate stereotypes
You don't know me, don't pretend to
And don't blame your problems on me
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 10:20 AM UTC
What does it mean to be a Chicano/Latino in the US?
What does it mean to be Black in the US?
What does it mean to be a minority in the States?
You know what that means...it means that we have a lot to prove
As in the words of Booker T. Washington:
"When a white boy undertakes a task,
it is taken for granted that he will succeed.
On the other hand, people are usually surprised
If the ***** boy does not fail. In a word, the ***** youth
starts out with the presumption against him."
Now in a society where institutionalized racism,
Or racism without racists, prevails
We are disenfranchised from even being considered youth.
We are a bunch of wetbacks, idiots, moron...you name it,
Where failure is expected of us...
...but enough is enough, we should not abide to the stereotypes
And stigmas that society stamps on our foreheads.
As a matter of fact, I do not ever recall giving this white patriarchal society
My blessing to call me whatever the **** it decides to call me.
We are here to take manners into our own hands, here to do whatever the heck our heart desires.
We are here to create the change that we wish to see in the world.
We are here to become the few & growing positive statistics that we fight for.
We are here to create voice and shed the light on those wins that we take to our hearts.
No one is here here to reflect the stereotype that this ****** up society
Tries to slap us with on an everyday basis.
We are here to change perception of who we are and where we stand in society.
We are positive statistics...not a stereotype.
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 3:10 AM UTC
i sit on the edge of the bench
accidentally bump knees, hear a grunt.
i want this hollow to be quenched
waiting silently for my turn with the blunt.
most of them use it as a social crutch
but i'm just here to fill my lungs.
not here for the hope of souls to touch
just desperate for the taste of ash on my tongue.
there's the stereotype of the stoner
cares about nothing, apt to start stealing.
but this self destruction comes from being a loner
and often the feeler of too many feelings.
so i'll sit on this bench surrounded by friends
who laugh like it can cure their sadness.
to me they're just the means to the end
sharers of smoke which allows me to vanish.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 2:55 PM UTC
Girly.
You call me girly.
When I wore pink,
You called me girly,
And said I was trying to be "the stereotype of femininity".
I just wanted to wear pink.
When I wore a skirt,
You called me girly.
Said I was just trying to impress boys and be slutty.
When I went out with a boy,
You called it "the death of feminism"
And when I cried,
You laughed and said "Cry, then, girly."
I- wait.
I am a girl.
If I am a girl, I must be girly.
And so you must be girly too.
Since when has being a woman been a slur?
All these angry ****** women,
Trying to make their taunts noble,
By hiding behind a noble title that they don't hold- Feminist.
They simply like to taunt, shame, bully
Other women, who don't fit into their archetype of ****** insecurity and violent jealousy.
They don't care about the sexism, that goes on daily,
Internationally, globally, yet never seems to end.
Oh no, they do not see the bigger picture.
You do not see the big picture.
It's just you against another girl,
And you trying to justify your actions
By misusing that word,
That word you just love to misuse,
Feminism.
So go ahead.
Call me girly.
I'll be glad, I'll be proud.
You just called me a woman.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 9:23 AM UTC
The stereotype of the female type/ packing more than you give yourself credit for/
Spineless, backstabbing ******* in backless dresses fronting to impress dogs who are/
Barking at ******* that are easy to prey on/ hoping to get a good **** to sniff/
While your tail is out there waggin/ makin’ their tongues turn stiff/
There are many who live in that dog eat dog world/ And boy it can get pretty rough out there/ catch that innuendo?
You see, effing around is simple and it works like this; you F what you see/
Sometimes you find what you think to be ‘the one’ only to be deceived/
Because you believed what you saw and didn’t take the time to dig deep/
Next thing you know, your heart has been sunk in the pool of tears you weep/
You resort to a resolution to that’s easy to keep/ rectify to the erectified/
Yes, maybe some of this is harsh/ but if you cant handle the truth/
You wont know the difference between what’s right and wrong to do/
There’s a difference between a princess and a queen/
A princess who’s prince-less will settle for the frog/
While a queen knows how to stand on her own two feet/
Royalty is respected and they stand tough even when they’re rejected/
It’s hard to see something beautiful be used by a tool who’ll/
Only add her to the collection of his tool box/ then look for a new one/
But the reality of realism is/ reality can be pretty unreal sometimes/
And Miss Congeniality secretly believes the fallacy/ she wasn’t born to shine/
Selling herself at a price her mom would hate to see/
Giving out discounts because she can’t even count on herself/
The worst part is, it’s all manipulating her moral health/
And it’s demeaning her demeanor, being treated like Miss Demeanor/
But she didn’t mean for/ her life to turn to this/
She made three-left turns/ only to find the fourth right doesn’t exist/
Maybe a forthright person is all it takes to set her straight/
Boost her confidence/ make her feel great/ and tell her it’s never too late/
To find a new place to start over/ and get your mind in a better state/
That’s why this poem is called Tulip Teaser/ your own two lips are teasing you/
Impeding you from being you/ misleading you through your own garden/
But you’re better than that/ and there’s more to your garden than you think/
Just stick to your roots and let yourself grow to be the beautiful flower everyone likes to see/
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 2:11 PM UTC
Even as a child
I despised succumbing to the stereotype
That all girls like the color pink.
The first of my favorite colors was red
Bright red,
Like the first drop of blood dribbling from a small wound.
Then I remember fancying the color yellow,
But not a bright yellow
More of a laid-back, sandbox yellow.
Soon after I grew fond of the color blue.
Not a dark blue though,
Light blue, sky color.
The color of his eyes.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 9:35 AM UTC
Normally
Cookies
Are seen as sweet
As something
For a child to enjoy
Or at least that's the stereotype
And normally
Wine
Is seen as bitter
And something
For grown ups to enjoy
Or at least that's the stereotype
But
Children are now drinking wine
And
Adults are eating cookies
Adults look the other way about the children
With wine
And children look the other way about parents
Eating cookies they can't have
Why have things turned around?
Why have things changed?
Maybe because the children saw adults
Using wine
To dull pain
And so they tried it
Even though the aftermath
Was also painful
It was less painful than the rest of the world
And maybe because parents realized that if they put *** in their cookies
The children would stop stealing
And sneaking them
But both have backfired
Because now the children have more problems than before
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 7:53 PM UTC
Nobody was born today
But you picked up a cake anyway
for five dollars fifty plus tax
Now you're watching
Criminal Minds on a couch made for three
and eating it with your hands
It vaguely occurs to you that
you should be sharing it with someone
or at least put on some **** candles
You're not even hungry
you don't even need to fill a void
you did good today
You hardly even miss her anymore.
You haven't thought about it in weeks.
If you just slept you'd be fine in the morning.
You consider it all
examining the red velvet
stuck under your thumbnail
Maybe you're looking for
a file or a prison shank
sunk beneath the frosting
Or maybe you just need
to make this a Night
The Night of the Cake
It'll blend in
with the others
in a matter of time
But for a few weeks
you'll look back
and remember
you are a member
of those romanticized ranks
those plastic or terracotta statues
Tomorrow you will feed the dog.
And after work you will pick up groceries.
And after groceries you will pay your bills.
But tonight is the Night of Cake.
Tonight
you become a stereotype
An unforgiving consumer
with chocolate-stained hands.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 1:33 AM UTC
Congratulations
You went to church
but did you pay attention?
or were you focused more on bright screams
Congratulations
You read your bible
but when do you plan on listening to it
Congratulations
You're going to an outreach on Saturday
but what did you do Friday night?
Congratulations
You're a Christian
You are adding onto the stereotype of
Fake Christians
Stop telling people to not be lukewarm and
To live for God full out
When You Yourself
Are the problem
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 10:04 AM UTC