"stereotyped" poems
There is art
In your heart
Painting pictures
When I lay
My head down on your chest
There are songs in your eyes
Singing lullabies
When you hover
Pin me down
With your stare
There is a poem
On the tip
Of your tongue
I taste it
When I kiss you
You are tortured
Stereotyped
My jaded lover
I hear it
When you won't talk
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 3:35 AM UTC
Sometimes, I am in love with myself.
I force them to witness my love for my melanin
because they would love for me to hate my melanin.
I know that I am seen, but I want to be heard,
The first amendment allows me to speak, but they refused to hear a word-
that comes from my mouth.
My lips stereotyped as too black.
My diction too proper to act like this,
yet my slang is too ghetto to act like that...
Sometimes, I wonder what it's like to be white.
I hate being stared at when I speak in Spanish.
I never know if it's in disgust or in comfort,
because the sound of the double "r" rolling off of my tongue
sounds like the ricochet of the bullets they fire from their guns.
Since they no longer can enslave us like animals, they slaughter us
because, "if I can't have you no one can."
I refuse to be put down.
I refuse to shutdown.
My brown skin threatens,
and you all should be afraid.
Because I will banish your negativity with my Latin American flow,
speaking in Spanish with the Bachata tempo filling my veins.
My Ebonics is iconic,
and I refuse to be put in a box when the world is a sphere.
I... am more... than this.
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 2:16 AM UTC
If I kiss a woman, I am a lesbian
If I kiss a man, I am straight
I have this illogical need to scream at the heavens from atop a cliff
To scream I’m here in this world; I exist!
To say I am just bisexual is wrong
To say that certain aspect of me is the most oppressed is wrong
I am a woman, I am bisexual, I have tourettes, I have depression
I could go on for hours saying I ams
Saying statements that describe me
I am oppressed and stereotyped by the society I live in
So why is being bisexual the one I defend the most?
I asked myself this daily
Until I found the answer
Every other fact about me is undeniable;
I have a ******
I have diagnoses
That is tangible evidence
I have no sheet of paper with a signature of some fancy M.D.
Nor do I have some body part that labels me as bisexual
There is no definite way to tell if I am bisexual
Which makes it easier for people to say You’re just confused or It’s just a phase
And no matter how often I say it’s not; they won’t believe me
They don’t believe me because I don’t have the evidence they want
I don’t have an M.D.’s signature
I don’t have that ‘bisexual bodypart’
All I have is my own knowledge
And I don’t give a **** if that’s not good enough for you
Because I do exist
And I am here to stay
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 9:58 PM UTC
Hello my name is...
Girl, child
and I've been stereotyped,
by what society wants,
Because they pull me and taunt,
at what I deserve,
they just want our curves,
So hello my name is...
Girl, child
and I've been stereotyped.
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 9:50 PM UTC
Is it so hard to understand
Contemplate
Or begin to wrap your mind around the fact
That a person
Such as myself
Can be a christian
But gay.
Can be pro-marriage
But also pro-life.
Can want guns,
But also want to marry a girl.
My beliefs.
Don't tell me what I can and cannot believe
Or do
Simply because it doesn't fit into a mold
That you have stereotyped
For that group of people.
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 1:33 AM UTC
Just because it's suggested doesn't make it right.
In the hands of teachers, other staff.
What other purpose could this directly serve.
To defend our institutions.
To further endanger those around.
The knowledge instilled from book to teacher a different practice.
Now holstered, hidden in the drawer of a desk.
What goes through the mind of the victim that's been bullied.
What training can be set in place to stop the next bulletin.
Shooting across the screen.
The kid in 10th grade that carries the weight of the world.
Sitting all day staring out the window.
Mother in hospice.
A fragile thought swallowed by deafening silence.
It no longer becomes a listening session of encouragement.
The after school sessions of comfort sped up.
Another bulletin of hysteria fired across the screen.
Teacher student affair.
15 year old student found with 42 year old man.
When in reality she was seeking help due to a troubled home.
Afraid to sleep knowing the door would creep open.
Leaving her terrified to close her eyes. The relationship between step daughter and father without boundary.
Where's the specialty training for those who care.
The proper resources that extend beyond that of a pamphlet.
The dark skin kids that's made fun of because they look different.
Stereotyped as aggressive.
The dope boys, the baby mamas.
The light skin girl that's made to feel inferior because she turns red with every hit.
Her hair is longer than theirs so she wants to cut it.
Aggressively forgetting all the beauty she possesses.
The active shooter managing to make it pass the metal detectors.
Rallying the attention he didn't get at home.
The debate carries on across every wall except the right ones
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 11:33 AM UTC
happily ever afters
are so stereotyped
do two broken lovers
fit into the category?
x <3 x
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 8:57 PM UTC
the clouds storm and stir the horizon
and swoon like a sorrowful bird,
the sun sinks the same way once risen
and deafening the fires of his word,
a lover waits hopeless and dreary,
and hopeless and dreary departs
for love not returned leaves her weary
and breathful her heart.
a vision as clear as the ages,
that reach to the soul or the heart
the storm of the clouds broken cages
long gone those soft clouds that depart
and the sea strides to shore like a viking,
and rages eternal like cloud,
for the storm now is spent and surrenders,
that once stood so proud.
the sea she will wrap me in flowers
and drown me in ivies and wine,
as the sharp winter wind blows wild showers,
that bury the aches of the pines,
and the sea i found tender with rapture
blew me back where the ages relent,
and the sea gave me back all its flowers,
for the love never meant.
desire is no pastry or pudding,
it is death, it is life, it is naught,
in its rages it cries like a blossom
that bursts from the bough and is caught,
no lover could rule or control me,
but they begged and they begged
for my love,
and the love that i gave soon destroyed me,
a lion to the dove.
yet the sea dries my eyes from my weeping,
rejuvinates like vinaigrette,
and love never once won or departing
soon buries its soul in regret,
and the sea sings like a stereotyped lover,
too broody to throw out a rose
and the rose would be tearful my lover,
seas sea e'en froze.
for the sea is a viking of passion,
strange ghost of the wind and the wave,
and knows nothing of love or compassion,
but will leave you with the dark that can't save,
i see her in the **** frost, her blossom,
the waves that still billow like sails
the foam the blue foam near the flotsam,
her song a soft silvery scale.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 4:35 PM UTC
Call me a 'misogynist'
For learning your tricks,
Your 'feminism'
Doesn't stick.
I'm sure women
Feel empowered
With you sleeping around
At the twilight hours,
With 'chauvinist pigs'
In your blankets.
'Mistreated' and 'stereotyped',
What you scream
When deemed unripe.
You blame them for
Not taking of refuse
And call them
'Trash'.
All your words should amount
To ash,
But somehow womanhood
Always makes you right,
Even when,
From end to end,
You
Were the only one fooling in the night.
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 12:14 PM UTC
Seeking refuge
only to end up being used
cheap labour, low wages
slammed in small cages
stereotyped due to my difference
I pray for deliverance
government blames our growth on their lack of security
just all lies hiding behind their deepest insecurity
afraid to see me be who I was meant to be
blind to your scrutiny,
I search for liberty
in a land where I get robbed of dignity
immigrant is what they label me
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 8:34 AM UTC
At night I like to rest my fingertips on the protruding hipbone that is still covered by a fleshy layer of cushion. Of fat.
Why do we shy away from that description so often?
Fat.
Those three letters haunted me more than anything for the past 7 years, and I would hear it all too often.
And when I didn't hear it, I'd see it in their eyes.
I was not like the rest of them.
No Abercrombie for this pudgy middle schooler, and no eating candy unless I wanted to be ridiculed and stereotyped.
But not until my senior year of high school did it finally get to me.
I stopped eating. One almond at most and nothing else.
Fat.
Fat.
Disgusting.
Shameful.
Ugly.
All synonymous in my head.
Now it's completely different.
I embrace my beautiful body.
Every curve, every scar, every red engrained stretch mark.
I wear them with pride.
I take off my shirt for my lovers without fear or shame.
My body is bigger than societies idealistic and impossible standards of beauty...
And thank
God
For
That.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 4:18 PM UTC
Black boy stripped of his innocence.
Black boy denied his right to be a kid.
Black boy labeled since birth.
Black boy criminalized.
Black boy stereotyped.
Black boy violated.
Black boy silenced.
Black boy monitored.
Black boy put into a box.
Black boy seen as a menace.
Black boy forced to grow too fast.
Black boy with his back to the world.
Black boy, you are loved
Black boy, you are a prince
Black boy, you are beautiful
Black boy, you are smart and worthy.
Black boy, go on and speak your truth.
Black boy, go on and dance.
Black boy, go on and sing.
Black boy, go on and paint.
Black boy, go on and be a kid.
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 11:26 PM UTC
How could you Think,
Believe,
Dream,
That you do not
Matter?
It is
All
You are made of.
Reversion of Nature
Causing
Pluralities
Where none of us are
'Enough'.
Where do these stipulations come from?
What 'is' Enough?
What is Ethnicity?
What about the Asian woman with a
Jamaican Accent?
Born and Raised.
How is she Stereotyped?
Why this need to Classify?
Sort?
De-fine.
STOP.
You.
Were born.
Enough.
Choose what your
Ears are Privy too.
It is Known.
Who you Are.
Why Hide?
Why Change?
Do Not
Blindly Follow.
Turn Around.
Give your
Soul
F L I G H T.
A beaming
Shadow.
Not soon
Forgotten.
Matter is
Nothing
Until Observed.
Observe Self First.
Decide the Definition of
'You Matter'.
Do not
Cower.
Express...
All have
Reasons.
You.
Were Not.
An
Accident.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
Women are not allowed to be angry.
We are taught to be quiet, easy, pretty.
We cannot yell, because that does not make us beautiful.
We are taught to be delicate, dainty, soft.
We are not allowed to be angry.
1 in 5 women will be sexually assaulted before they graduate college.
60% of the world's malnourished population are women.
830 women die from preventable causes due to pregnancy or childbirth.
We are not allowed to be angry.
Women earn 77 cents to every dollar a man makes.
62 million girls are denied educational around the world.
4 out of 5 victims of human trafficking are girls.
Female genital mutilation affects 300 million girls worldwide.
5 African American women die from breast cancer each day.
We are not allowed to be angry.
Our president mocked a ****** assault survivor on live television.
Our country elected a ****** abuser to the Senate.
63% of **** cases go under reported.
We are not allowed to be angry.
Women of color are stereotyped as angry without even opening their mouths.
Women of native descent are 3 times more likely to be sexually abused in their lifetime.
We are not allowed to be angry.
We are not allowed to be angry when we hear classmates talk about how they were sexually assaulted and no one cared,
tears streaming down her face. She was 16.
We get told to "calm down, you're being dramatic" by people we thought we could trust, people we love.
We are mocked for our passion, for our apathy, for our triumphs and for our failures.
Feminism has become a ***** word.
But it is the only way,
the only way,
we can gain our equality, our freedom.
I don't want to be terrified of being alone at night.
I don't want to watch what I say around a group of men.
I don't want to feel scrutinized in every article of clothing I wear.
I don't want to be sexualized for having *******
I don't want to be scared of being alone with a boy at a party.
I don't want to be called angry when I speak up for my rights.
We are not allowed to be angry.
But we are.
We are angry.
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 7:11 PM UTC
We have been stereotyped, from the very beginning. Don't you think it's about time, to bring this to an ending?
While talking on the telephone, no matter who you are, speak your very best. Allow people to hear you, then allow them to guess.
When you walk forward, keep your head high. When looking any person in the face, look them in the eye.
Remember, we are all equal, not bowing to any man. We are not weak in our knees, therefore we can boldly stand.
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
To be defined as
Conforming to standard
To be just like any other *******
This is what is to be pandered
The good name ‘Unique’ is slandered
To be gerrymandered,
Nonstandard, and substandard
To be normal?
Referring to the common type
To understand ordinary hype
To be stereotyped
To have a good reason to gripe
To be normal?
To be defined as only average
To live in societies cage
To suffer such rage
Looking for love on an empty page
Missing out on a golden age
To be normal?
Bound in law isn’t free
Conforming to minor guarantee
To pay life’s admission fee
If I were you, the joke is on me
Normal isn’t what you should be
Aug 2, 2010
Aug 2, 2010 at 9:30 AM UTC
I can dissect;
break it down to the smallest molecule
But you wouldn't see where and what i mean
My deepest pain, excruciating, blood boiling anger
Wouldn't be justified in your eyes
Categorized and stereotyped into something
With which you would never be able to sympathize or relate
But if i opened my thighs your attention would quickly shift
To see where and how long you could fit
When you look into my eyes don't you see more than that
The pain i carry from constantly being called ugly and fat
A child beyond her years
Into an adult who disowns her tears
From seeing the blood pour from my lips
And the welts on my hips
Self taught the language of rejection
Because it replaced affection
Seeking anything to fill the void left
From s mentally, physically, verbally abusive father
And an intangible mother
It's so much easier to ignore and dismiss me that
If you sought to truly understand me
It still would not expand your vision of me
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 1:30 AM UTC
A parson's wife I never thought I'd be,
Attending bazaars, pouring tea.
Not my style, woe is me.
One day Art awoke and said to me,
A minister I plan to be,
How good am I, follow me!
Oh God, I said, don't do this to me.
What did I ever do to thee?
I don't want this, why me?
God, surely you don't want me.
I'm going to fight, can't you see.
It's Art who's seen the light, not me.
Young and innocent I went.
To my fate I was sent,
On this adventure Art was bent.
Studying and learning, Art did work,
And in the background I did lurk.
Like a puppet I did ****
Raise six kids, scrimp and save,
Go to church, feel like a slave.
Don't rock the boat, here comes a wave!
Break the mold, do your own thing,
Said my conscience, on the wing.
Be yourself, fly and sing.
Belly dancing I took, to Art's delight.
A rebel in a bra, that was my fight!
I'd go but I'd kick and scratch and bite.
Stereotyped I would never be.
A woman should be free
To be herself, like you and me.
Now I'm happy, I've found my life.
Here amongst the calm and strife,
I'm a parson's wife.
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 7:31 PM UTC
Socially Engaged Poetry
As an effective tool for advocacy
Creating partnerships and sharing skills
A voice to the voiceless, Split this Cliché
Empowerment to the empowermentless
Through bleats of provocation and witness
Copyrighted and stereotyped
In a World That is Forever 1968
Exploring and celebrating the many ways
We can score yet another guilt-grant
Asserting the centrality of the 501C3
Through bearing witness to diversity
As long as it behaves itself and thinks like us
Accessible and yet authentic
A n d l i k e d o s t u f f w i t h s p a c e l i k e u no
cause spaces
are authentic, and,
like
stuff
Poetry as a living, breathing art form
If you listen, you can hear its respirations
Gasping in the long, dark night of group-think
Obedient to a mission statement
And the careful construction of resumes
Committee integrate complexity
Formula dampens the authentic voice
Perform this vital work imagining
Personal and social responsibility
Revolutionary transformation
Write and perform this vital work support
Of human social justice experience
Grounded in holistic spirituality
Flouting the patriarchal something-ness
An act that requires community
If you love freedom, you dare not disobey
And let all the people say “Cogent!”
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 6:15 PM UTC
Dark, so sweetly
spirals of black
slaking black
in layers
of rhythm
liquid night
brush-stroked
into oblivion
drink up, my love
let thirst
be satisfied
let the pulses
of rock and hard
places be
hotly gratified
dusty artifacts
in alternation
as we imbibe the potions
of manifestation
they twist and turn
bubble up through the muck
electrify the system
as we get ready to ****
up all those hollow,
vapid schemes
busting them apart
demolishing themes
of stereotyped hearts
smashing through convention
until the dry becomes wet
reaching ascension
in tears and sweat
the water gets flowing
down from mountain ice
as we pulverize limits
without thinking twice
and while obscurity
of twilight in the shadows
of dusk
blurs our vision
in harsh realities, brusque
we know that we must be who we are
live this life in full force
filter broken voices
that sabotage our course
and in a flick
of a whisper
an ancient eye blinks
and with one feral breeze
we are over
the brink
like a fall from a
cliff in a delicate arc
we open up
our buried layers
to the obsidian
spark
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 5:50 PM UTC
To all those,
With petty drug
violations
Who might
**** ***** in gateways
Or all those,
Whose skin color was too
whose genders made them less
And especially under the 13th
Who they won't allow one to get
To all those,
stereotyped
ink and by fashion
rejected and inappropriate
For those,
who touched too little
or those who have ****** a lot
And most certainly
those who were not allowed to tell
And for,
all who pray and are feared
all too poor to be there
all too sick
all not educated
all who speak too much
And who don't say anything at all.
You are all the least qualified to get a job.
Let they be the judge.
None of your mistakes or situations
can be redeemed or validated.
Does that sound about white?
They told you image
mattered but,
what
of
his?
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 12:05 PM UTC
Nigeria my beloved home is under siege:
A death trap I see in her third mainland bridge.
The crying blood of the slain in the North-east
overwhelms vicious politicians with guilt.
Humans with hearts of beasts ravage her North-west,
outgunning her corrupt weakened armed forces.
Catacombs of mass graves quantify losses
incurred from incessant farmers-herders clash.
Darkness looms as stupendous amounts of cash
are cast in an energy sector like trash.
Her healing centres are no more than health morgues,
and her institutions breed intellectual dogs.
Her oligarchs of the six zones unify
to plunder, **** and line their pockets with filth.
With peanuts they entice poverty stricken
youths, just to have their sit-tight bids guaranteed them.
Indulgences from the gullible gratify
custodians of faith endowed with seducing lips.
My beloved Nigeria has failed to hearken
to the values of the elders before them.
With priorities misplaced, we go seeking
for stereotyped reputations in our trips
to foreign climes for filthy lucre to acquire.
Good Lord! When will values my mother-land require?
Apr 28, 2019
Apr 28, 2019 at 8:18 AM UTC
This number, the intangible phenomenon
That governs our lives
We are separated, categorised
Stereotyped by this number
But who's to say this number needs be comparable?
Isn't it full of subjectivity
And experiences, immeasurable data
That cannot be programmed into any system
To give us a true idea
First, tell us how many times you have been around the sun
Then tell us
Your age
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 10:02 PM UTC
Her stained thoughts manifest
as reckless voice that
critiques and confines.
Her words jars authenticity
and snubs their narrative,
cooked from their perspective,
and experience.
Flames of disapproval,
burn brighter with every beat
as incompetency bites
and acceptance withers.
She captures snapshots,
and confines them into
stereotyped framed
of idiosyncratic value.
But steadily,
as she delayers,
scrubs the scrutiny of judgements
of her thoughts, and emotions —
she steps off the battleground
of others skin
and becomes the change of creating
a embracing society.
Aug 12, 2019
Aug 12, 2019 at 11:52 AM UTC
As I see this police brutality, it has become a reality
As many people are getting hit with these bullets of casualties
And the reality of this reality
And these bullets of casualties
Are
That it's really sad to me
To be
Push to the left
Of this pain of death
Like Trayvon Martin
As I saw a Black boy
With happiness and joy
As he went to the store
Not to get stereotyped
As dangerous and poor
And to be treated like a bore
An animal of sorts
And to be made into a deadly corpus
His body
That lay in the morgue
And his parents
That cried O'Lord
And their tears
That's filled with the death of their son
And the injustice of justice that goes undone
These tears
They weigh a ton
Like the bullet of a gun
That killed Trayvon Martin and Mike Brown
But the ones that shoot these guns
Are never convicted
But they’re the ones who get assisted and enlisted
And the Black boy—
He's the one who gets unlisted and convicted
When he's convicted
He's thrown and twisted
Into just another statistic
So, as I pray
Hoping this police brutality
Will goes away
One Day
As shells of the bullets
Hits me where I lay
Aug 4, 2025
Aug 4, 2025 at 12:58 PM UTC